


Remember You're Not Safe

by camwolfe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Chronic Pain, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-12 07:15:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 64,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2100444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camwolfe/pseuds/camwolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky find each other. Bucky is still reeling from the trauma he has endured, but life isn’t going to stop and wait while he recovers. The two of them face new threats that further complicate their already difficult lives. Bucky and Steve need each other more than ever, in this new century with its new dangers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. With all this time wasted

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song "Phantom" by Of Monsters and Men. 
> 
> There are mentions of drug addiction and self-harm in this, so if you're uncomfortable with that please be careful reading this!
> 
> Let me know if you see any huge errors or anything like that! I only have time to write this very late at night, and usually when I'm really tired. Which means that there definitely could be huge errors that I'm missing.

It wasn’t that difficult. It really, really was not a hard thing to do. At least, it wasn’t for Bucky. Apparently it was for others.

He would have been in and out of there in exactly 17 minutes if they hadn’t interfered.

By now, Bucky had this down to a science. This was the 14th Hydra base he’d taken out in less than three months. He should have been more efficient than that, actually, but he kept having to change his very carefully laid out plans at the last minute for two reasons.

The first reason was that sometimes the mess in his head got too loud, and he’d find himself sitting on the side of a road somewhere with no idea of how he’d gotten there, or what day it was. When that happened, and it happened more often than he wanted to admit, it would take him at least two days and 3 hours to put his plans back together again.

The second reason was that Steve Rogers and the man he called Sam were very fast, and had an uncanny ability to figure out where Bucky would be headed next. Three times now, Bucky had reached the base he’d been planning on destroying, only to find Steve and Sam already there. To his annoyance, they didn’t even take out the bases themselves, although they appeared to have had several arguments about it. Once, Bucky had been forced to sit in the long grass outside of an innocent-looking farmhouse in the middle of Ohio for 16 minutes and 24 seconds while Steve and Sam had argued. The two of them had been kneeling in what was clearly a far-too-exposed area outside of the house’s fence, and were speaking in far-too-loud whispers.

“Look, if you’re this upset about it, you stay out here and keep watch and I’ll go in!” Steve had hissed under his breath, while he tried and failed to hide himself in the tall grass.

“Okay, really? Do you seriously think I would let you do that? Ever? Let’s just call Fury, he’ll send a team, we clear out, we head to that Starbucks I saw down the road…“ Sam hissed back.

“Look, we don’t even know how if this is actually a Hydra base! For all we know, there’s some harmless family living there. I’ll go in, check it out, you -“

Bucky’s jaw clenched with annoyance as he saw the Hydra agents crawl silently out of the grass behind Steve and Sam. Bucky watched as Steve start to turn towards the agents, but the agents already had their weapons locked and loaded. Bucky had to resist the urge to roll his eyes as he shot all three agents straight through the head. Sam and Steve whipped around instantly, both of them staring at the dead agents metres behind them. Steve reacted first, scrambling to his feet and whipping his shield off his back and onto his arm. His eyes frantically searched the peacefully waving grass in Bucky’s direction, his face desperate.

Bucky scowled more deeply as he scrambled backward into the tunnel he’d found earlier. It linked this house to a more convenient entrance in the small town a few kilometres away. Bucky heard the sound of Sam’s wings whirring to life as he dropped into the quiet darkness, and the shouts of more Hydra agents as they converged on Sam and Steve. The clang of bullets against Steve’s shield was familiar in a way that he didn’t understand but knew he should, and it ripped like fire through his head. His chest burned with rage and frustration as he stalked silently through the pitch-black tunnel. He’d had this planned down to the millisecond, and it would have gone perfectly. There was no chance of anything going right now, not with Sam and Steve drawing the attention of every Hydra agent in a 50 kilometre radius.

It had been 4 days, 2 hours, and 19 seconds since his last injections, and now it would be at least another 2 days, 1 hour, and 38 seconds until he could get his hands on more. He could already feel his muscles starting to twitch and tremble, and his thoughts were already starting to swirl and get louder. He took his current frustration out on the lone Hydra agent running towards him through the dark tunnel towards the commotion above. The man never even saw Bucky. Bucky grabbed him by the hair with his left arm and swung him back against the concrete wall, sliding his favourite knife into his right hand easily. He slit the man’s throat without breaking stride and left him lying in a heap on the floor. It was messy and not subtle at all, but Bucky was too irritated to care.

He made it back to his truck in 46 minutes and 19 seconds with no further incidents. It wasn’t his truck, by definition, but he hadn’t killed the man he stole it from. Which meant, in some weird way, that Bucky deserved that truck more than if he’d killed to get it. Bucky tossed a few of the guns he’d had strapped to his body onto the seat next to him as he ripped the door open and jumped in. He tasted blood in his mouth as he started the truck, and he realized that at some point he must have bitten into his lip. He ignored the pain with a practiced apathy, gunning the truck back onto the highway from the ditch where he’d left it. He drove exactly 15 miles over the speed limit, which would ensure that he got away from Steve and Sam on time (Steve always drove exactly at the speed limit) but also made sure that the local police officers wouldn’t pull him over. He’d have to kill them if they did so, and Bucky had decided that that was something he definitely did not want to do.

He drove until the light had faded from the sky, and watched impassively as the sky slid from a bright blue, to a soft, warm yellow, and then finally to a deep black. Bucky liked the night better, he’d decided. He blended better. He knew how to make the shadows work to his advantage, and he liked how the night let him disappear in a blink of an eye. He could do that during the day, of course, but it was easier at night. More efficient.

He drove even as his eyes stung and his thoughts grew more scattered. He was exactly 14 hours, 5 minutes, and 44 seconds from the next Hydra base on his list, accounting for the necessary stops to refuel his truck. He stopped at a non-descript gas station in a tiny, non-descript town in a tiny, non-descript state. He didn’t speak to the cashier as he filled his truck with gas, and then purchased a bottle of water and a single chocolate bar. The cashier was content to blandly tell him the price of his purchases and then return to her magazine as Bucky carefully counted his money (stolen, but he hadn’t killed them so really it was his) and tossed it on the counter with his right hand.

  
He sat in his truck for a minute once he left the store, glaring at the bottle of water and chocolate bar sitting on the seat with his guns. He wasn’t hungry, at all, but the growing feeling of weakness in his legs and the pressure in the front of his head needed to be fixed. He could not take on the next Hydra base if he couldn’t walk, and so he grimaced and drank the entire bottle of water at once. He forced himself to eat the entire chocolate bar, even though he felt uncomfortably full after only a few bites. Although that could have just been because he’d chugged the entire bottle of water. Bucky didn’t know.

He stared to drive again. Bucky felt the frustration and rage that burned constantly at the back of his mind begin to push to the front again. He was angry that he couldn’t eat properly, because he needed to eat properly to finish this mission. His mission. He was angry that he didn’t know how to fuel his body properly, and he was angry that he hadn’t slept in 4 days, 9 hours, and 36 seconds, if you could even call what happened when he passed out sleeping. He was angry that his right shoulder throbbed constantly where Steve had broken it, because Bucky hadn’t known how to treat it properly beyond shoving it back into place for the time being. He was angry that his head felt like it had lightning running through it at all times of day, and that he had at least three broken ribs on the left side of his body that sent sharp jets of pain through his side every time he moved. He was angry that Steve and Sam had gotten in his way again, and he was mad that Steve kept figuring out where Bucky would be next, and he was angry that he kept fucking dropping his own missions to dig Steve and Sam out of the holes they got themselves into and his head hurt and his jaw hurt and he was trying to plan through the next step in his mission but someone was singing a soft Russian folk song in a memory that kept trying to push through to the front of his mind but it hurt and he couldn’t let it -

  
When Bucky opened his eyes again, the sky was starting to lighten and his truck was pulled over on the side of the road, still running. His face was wedged between the steering wheel and the car door, which Bucky immediately pushed open without using the handle. His left arm shoved it open and Bucky tumbled out onto the cool gravel. He knelt there, his breathing rapid and erratic, as he screamed silently and painfully and dug his hands into the ground. He struggled to see the pavement in front of him as his mind howled, visions of blood and death and pain and Steve’s bruised face staring calmly at him -

Bucky stumbled back towards his truck and kicked the side of it as hard as he could. His first kick put a significant dent in the side, and Bucky kept going at it until the back of the pick-up truck looked like it had been hit by a semi-trailer. When he finally fell to his knees again, his legs giving out, his right hand was already turning blue and black and he’d somehow sliced open his forearm. He stared blankly at the blood running sluggishly down onto his palm, decided it was not an immediate threat to his life, decided he didn’t particularly care if it was, and got back into his truck. He was now an undetermined number of hours off schedule, and he would have to increase his driving speed in order to compensate. He would need to refuel his truck within the hour, as it had also been running for an undetermined amount of time. He would have to adjust his schedule in order to approach the next Hydra base at night and to ensure the least amount of guards would be on duty. Bucky very nearly sighed with relief as he pulled back out onto the highway, his mind quieting again for the time being as he worked through his plans.


	2. And all this time gone

                                                                                                      ONE MONTH LATER

 

Relief flared through Bucky’s mind as he kicked down the door into the room where the medications were kept. A man looked up from the desk where he was working as Bucky walked in, but the last thing he saw was Bucky pointing his gun at him and firing without even looking. Bucky didn’t bother searching for the keys to the cabinet he needed, using his left arm to rip the entire door off. He casually threw the other medications on the floor as he looked through them.

The barest hint of a grin flashed across his face as he found the small case that contained the medication designed specifically for him. Three Hydra agent rushed through the door at him, and he shot them all before their fingers could pull their triggers. He was almost clumsy in his eagerness to get the case open, finally simply smashing through the glass lid and pulling the syringes out. He grabbed them one at time with his left arm, hastily plunging them into his right arm. His muscles clenched as he did so, pain flaring initially but quickly fading. Once he’d finished, he paused for a minute, bracing himself against the counter as he felt the medication begin to rush through his body. The trembling and pain in all his muscles began to immediately fade, and the headache that was always there began to fade to a dull ache. His thoughts quieted, and he smiled softly as he felt the anger begin to dissipate. He turned and stepped over the bodies of the dead Hydra agents, heading back out into the hall with his gun at the ready. He’d already dealt with most of the agents in the building, and had already determined that there was no one of importance here. His current mission was almost complete. He’d type the proper codes in before he left, and the building would go up in flames once he was a safe enough distance away.

He took a moment to run through all the codes he knew in his mind. He did that often, mostly because he was terrified of forgetting them. He wasn’t even supposed to know them in the first place, but he’d memorized them over time and no one had bothered to hide them from him.

Bucky didn’t bother to run as he made his way back through the base. There was no need to hurry. He’d timed this perfectly, and had even given himself 46 extra seconds of leeway should anything go wrong. He’d -

Another alarm ripped through the building, on top of the other alarms already going off. Bucky scowled and stumbled for a moment as the sound ripped through his already throbbing head. He forced himself to ignore the pain and instead broke into a run. He knew the sound of that alarm, and he knew what would happen next. He grabbed a mask hanging from the neck of a Hydra agent lying facedown on the floor and shoved it over his face just as a familiar hissing started. The gas pouring from the walls was colourless, odourless, and virtually undetectable, but it was designed to knock even the strongest enemy out if they didn’t get a mask on in time.

Bucky rounded another corner, moving faster now. If someone or something had triggered this alarm, it had also triggered the base’s self-destruct sequence. Bucky didn’t know the codes to turn that off.

Bucky had memorized the location of all of the Hydra agents he’d left dead around the base, which is why he was very annoyed when he tripped over a body lying on the floor that he hadn’t left there. He caught himself before he fell, obviously, and spun around indignantly. He growled audibly under his breath as he recognized Steve’s friend Sam lying face down on the ground, unmoving. His anger at this threatened to push through his current medication-induced calmness, and Bucky spun back around and went to stalk out the door anyway. Sam had gotten in his way for the last time.

A sound to his right caught his attention. Bucky turned to see Steve (of course, OF COURSE it was Steve), struggling to rise to his feet as he gasped for breath. Bucky could have told him that gasping for breath was not the best course of action, but it didn’t seem to matter anyway because Steve collapsed back to the ground in the next second. Bucky hesitated, and hated himself for it. The door was right there, he knew the codes to open it, he could walk through it and finish his mission like he’d planned. This place was going to explode in 1 minute and 36 seconds anyway.

He stared at Steve. Steve was almost unconscious, but he was still frantically trying to pull himself towards Sam. His eyes were rolling back in his head, and it was clearly taking all of his effort just to move his arms. Bucky watched him struggle for a moment, and then frowned as Steve slowly slumped back to the ground, his eyes closing.

Bucky’s carefully calculated internal clock began to push more insistently towards the front of his mind, and Bucky screamed in anger as he lunged forward and grabbed Steve by his shoulders. Bucky lunged for the door, using his left arm to pull Steve behind him as he headed for the base’s main door. He frantically typed in the proper code with his right hand, and the door slid open with a hiss. Fresh air rushed in as Bucky threw himself out the door, using both hands now to drag Steve behind him into the cool night. Steve was so heavy, why was he so heavy? Had he always been this heavy?

Bucky dragged Steve into the relative safety of the trees surrounding the base. They were clear of the blast zone, and far enough from the resulting flames that Steve wouldn’t get burned. Bucky dropped Steve back onto the ground and turned to scan the area for any escaped Hydra agents, which he couldn’t allow.

Behind him, he heard Steve stir suddenly on the ground. Bucky turned around to see Steve staring at him, his eyes wild.

“Sam,” Steve gasped as he struggled to push himself off the ground. “Bucky, Sam, please,” he said he started trying to fucking crawl back to the Hydra base that was clearly about to explode.

Bucky again resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead let himself snarl in frustration. He stormed over to where Steve was lying and kicked him hard in the ribs, hard enough to ensure that Steve would stay there for at least a few minutes. Steve reflexively dropped back to the ground and curled up around his side with a sharp intake of breath, and Bucky ran.

The door, luckily, had stayed open. Bucky had exactly 17 seconds left before the base started to implode. He darted back into the base, ignoring the pain in his ears as the alarms wailed. Sam was still lying unmoving on the floor, and Bucky grabbed him and experimentally tried to lift him. Sam, luckily, was much lighter than Steve. Bucky threw him over his left shoulder and scrambled out of the base. The base would explode in 11 seconds, and it would normally take Bucky only 8 seconds to run to relatively safety. Carrying Sam, though, meant that it would take Bucky 14 seconds to get clear of the blast.

Bucky could see Steve coming towards them, staggering and falling. There were only 4 seconds left, and Bucky briefly considered dropping Sam and throwing himself to safety. But he could see Steve clearly now. Steve was holding his ribs with his hands and yet was still trying to run. Bucky had a momentary flash of guilt for kicking him, and this was exacerbated by the fear he could see on Steve’s face. Steve was clearly worried about Sam’s well-being, which would make sense as Sam was clearly Steve’s friend and Steve cared about his friends.

Bucky closed his eyes, took a deep breath of the fresh air, and dropped Sam onto the ground in front of him. Bucky dropped to his knees behind Sam’s body, angled himself between Sam and the Hydra base, and waited.

The blast as the base exploded wasn’t as bad as Bucky had expected, but the pieces of concrete and boiling metal that rained down on him was. The heat stole his breath and he felt it scorch his lungs. He tried to take a desperate breath in but all that did was pull ash and dirt into his lungs and throat. He felt something crash into the back of his head and neck and then everything was finally, mercifully, quiet.

Bucky didn’t know how long it was until his mind started to wake up again, but the air wasn’t hot anymore and Steve was shouting, so it must have been a while. He could feel people around him, all of them yelling at each other. Someone was holding his right arm, and was clearly trying to handcuff it to his left arm. From Steve’s angry shouts, he seemed to disagree with what this person was doing. Bucky also disagreed with it, which is why he thrust his now handcuffed arms over the person’s head and wrapped the chain of the handcuffs around their throat. Now more people were screaming and shouting, and Bucky wasn’t sure why because he couldn’t see properly or breathe and his hearing sounded like someone had put earplugs in his ears. He felt the sharp, familiar pain of electricity stab into his side and he screamed, his arms going slack as he thumped back down onto the ground. He sobbed once, and he thought he saw Steve trying to push people out of the way to get to him as everything went quiet again.

Bucky woke up three more times after that, and each time there were people arguing and engines whirring and machines beeping. The first two times he woke up, he felt the distinct pinprick of a needle in his arm once they noticed he was awake, and he slipped right back into the dark. The third time, he woke up on what was clearly an airplane. His eyes flew open and he screamed in fear before he could remember to stop himself. He immediately curled up and bit down on his right arm as hard as he could to muffle his screams. He braced himself for the pain and the electricity as he did so. He wasn’t supposed to make any kind of noise that wasn’t necessary, especially not something as annoying as a scream, he knew that and he’d panicked and forgotten and he was sorry, he was so sorry.

He heard people talking frantically again, and felt someone scramble towards him.

“Don’t touch him, Steve,” Sam’s voice said softly.

“He’s hurting himself, Sam!” Steve said, but he did as Sam instructed and didn’t touch Bucky. He knelt beside him instead.

“It’s okay, Buck, it’s okay. You’re safe, we’re taking you somewhere safe. You’re on a plane-“

Bucky screamed louder to himself, feeling his body convulse silently as he sobbed. He was careful not to make a sound now though. He didn’t want to be a plane, he didn’t want to be going somewhere “safe”, there was nowhere safe, Steve should know that, why didn’t Steve know that? Bucky had a plan, he had a mission and he needed to finish it and they were taking him somewhere away from that. He couldn’t handle that, he didn’t know how to deal with that. His head was only clear and quiet when he was following the mission he’d carefully planned for himself.

He dug both his hands into his hair and pulled as hard as he could, silently.

“Bucky, please, stop, please.“ Steve’s voice was broken and desperate.

“Steve, I’m gonna knock him out again,” Sam said quietly. “We can’t deal with this here. Not on a fucking plane.”

Steve took a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, okay, you’re right, you’re right. Do it.”

Bucky felt Sam move closer to him. “Hey, man. I’m going to give you a little more of this, all right? It won’t hurt, it’ll just help you to stay calm until we get off this plane. It won’t hurt.”

Bucky felt the too-familiar prick of a needle again and let his body slump back onto the soft floor of the plane as his head quieted again, and he was sucked back down into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on tumblr! cameronwolfe.tumblr.com


	3. If you could choose, you would choose not to feel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles are still from "Phantom", by Of Monsters and Men. I really like that song (if that wasn't clear by now)

It was quiet when he woke up again. He was lying on something soft, on a floor that was reassuringly solid. He forced his eyes open, blinking for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the soft light. The second he woke up enough to be aware of his surroundings, he flipped from where he was lying to slam his back against the wall, crouching. He felt his heart rate start to spike as he took in the plain, cool room. There were no windows and only one door, which looked solid enough to be fortified with steel or something similar. He’d been lying on a mattress on the floor, one without springs or sheets or anything else he could use as a weapon. There was a small table and two chairs, but both were thick plastic and would be virtually useless as a weapon. There was a small bathroom behind a small panel that jutted out a few feet from the wall, clearly designed to give the washroom a small amount of privacy.

Bucky let himself slide slowly back down to sit carefully on the mattress, his eyes still searching the room. He saw at least four cameras positioned around the room, all pointed at him. They clearly had not made an attempt to hide them.

He struggled to force his heartbeat back down to normal as he considered his situation. He knew that he had been taken somewhere on a plane, and that Steve and Sam had been there. Therefore, it was a safe assumption that Steve and Sam had brought him here. And wherever “here” was, it was somewhere that was NOT part of his plan. He scowled more deeply as he considered this. He’d had the next three weeks planned out down to the second and he deeply resented this interruption. He’d had it scheduled so that he would receive his next dose of medication two days later, and he clearly already majorly off track.

He snapped his head back up as the door emitted a soft hissing noise and slid open. He caught a glimpse of a carpeted hallway outside his room before Steve stepped through the door and it closed behind him. Steve paused once he stepped inside, clearly assessing whether or not Bucky was planning on attacking him. When Bucky didn’t move, he relaxed slightly and moved further inside. Steve moved gingerly towards Bucky and carefully sat down in front of him, making sure to stay a few feet away.

Bucky waited for him to say something, but Steve seemed content to just stare at him for a moment. Several minutes passed in silence, with Steve staring at Bucky and Bucky staring impassively at the blank wall behind Steve. Finally, Steve seemed to shake himself out of his reverie.

“Are you okay?”

Bucky resisted the urge to roll his eyes, keeping his face blank. Yeah, he was awesome. Great. Never been better. He needed to get out of here, he had an indeterminate amount of time before his next medication dosage and this was interrupting his plan-

“Okay, sorry, stupid question. Look, you don’t have to answer, but, just, feel free to ask if you need something. Anything.”

When Bucky said nothing, he continued.

“We’re in New York, if you were wondering. You’re safe here. I know this looks… intimidating, but it’s just a friend’s place. A rich friend.”

New York? That wasn’t as bad as Bucky had expected. The next Hydra base on his list was in Montreal. That was only a 5 hour drive, if he drove quickly. He’d have to get a new truck, though. He still had no money so he’d have to steal this one too. He’d need to get hold of new guns as well. They’d taken his guns and his knives, clearly, and now that he thought about it, his clothes too. He was wearing some kind of plain sweatpants and a white shirt. It was only when he noticed this that he also noticed the distinctive feeling of bandages covering part of his upper back and neck. This also led him to finally recognize the pain that was throbbing through his spine and shoulders, not to mention his headache. The headache was always there though, so that was nothing out of the ordinary. He -

“Bucky? Are you…” Steve trailed off as Bucky looked at him for the first time. He had no idea if Steve had been talking for the last 14 seconds or not. Steve looked at him, hesitant.

“Natasha said that… that I should ask you if you were okay with me calling you Bucky? Well, I mean, she said to ask you that before I called you it but I keep forgetting, I’m sorry.”

Bucky wanted Steve to stop apologizing. As far as Bucky was concerned, Steve had done nothing to apologize for. Except for interrupting Bucky’s plans, but Bucky didn’t think Steve had meant to do that. Maybe he had. Bucky really didn’t know. All he knew was that Steve was in his head, and that Steve had probably meant something to him, before. Bucky didn’t know what that had been, but he knew that when Steve had dropped his shield on that fucking helicarrier, Bucky had felt a strange surge of rage that he wasn’t familiar with. That rage had disappeared when Steve had said something to him, something Bucky hadn’t understood and still didn’t, but suddenly a tumble of images and noises and pain had ripped through his head and he had known that he absolutely could not kill this man. He had known that this man was Steve Rogers, because the files they’d given him to read had said so. But he also knew that Steve Rogers loved apple cake and coffee. He knew that Steve Rogers liked to wake up early in the morning and hated it when people didn’t clean their own dishes. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did, and all of this had slammed through his mind in an instant. The next second, everything was exploding and Steve (who couldn’t sing but sang all the time anyway, who would take ages to get ready in the morning but somehow would always be on time to whatever he was doing, who could spend hours staring out the window at the people walking by on the street) was falling and disappearing into the water.

Steve cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. Bucky looked back at him, realizing that at least a few minutes must have passed while he had tried to sort through the shouting in his head.

“It’s fine,” Bucky said finally. At first he wasn’t even sure if he’d spoken out loud, but he got confirmation when Steve’s face lit up like the fucking sun. “It’s just a name.”

Steve’s face fell a little at that (he had such an expressive face, anyone could have read it. A weakness), but he kept smiling anyway.

“All right. Good. Okay. Um, do you… do you know who I am?” He looked irritatingly hopeful.

Bucky didn’t know how to answer this, exactly. He did, and he didn’t. Sometimes he knew more than he did at other times. Sometimes he would get whole, complete memories flitting around his mind on the tail of something else, and then it would be gone in the next instant. His head really hurt, it hurt so much.

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Steve said. Bucky looked at him again. He wanted to apologize for drifting in and out like this, but as soon as he thought that, the pain in his head distracted him again and he forgot.

“Steve,” Bucky said instead. “You’re Steve.”

Steve’s face lit up again.

“Yeah,” Steve said with a smile. He said something else too, maybe a few things, but the noise in Bucky’s head was getting too loud for him to hear properly. Steve’s voice (which was really nice, actually) had started to grate on his nerves and he could feel his muscles starting to tense in response. The lights in this room were too bright and they hurt his eyes. The air was warm but the wall he was leaning against was cold. Bucky hated the cold. He hated that they’d taken his weapons and he hated that he was trapped in here, because he was. Steve hadn’t said so, but you’d don’t put someone in a room with no windows and no exits except a sealed door if you’re going to let them leave. Especially someone like him. Maybe it was better that he was stuck in here, he couldn’t hurt anyone in here. He didn’t like to hurt people. He really, really didn’t like it. Especially innocent people. They hadn’t done anything wrong, they didn’t deserve it. He really liked hurting Hydra agents though. He couldn’t hurt any Hydra agents in here, so that was a negative.

  
The pain in his head pulled his thoughts away again. He was suddenly aware of how irritating the bandages on his back felt. The scrapes and scratches on his arm and legs were itching too, which pissed him off even more. He scratched furiously at his right arm with his left, not noticing that he was digging in too deeply. Now his arm was hurting instead of itching, which was actually more annoying.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Steve was kneeling now, and was saying something to him. He looked concerned. Too concerned. Bucky hated that look on his face. Why the hell would Steve be concerned about him? He’d tried to kill him, for fuck’s sake, and he’d done a terrible job of it too.

Steve’s outstretched hand got a little too close, and Bucky scrambled backward, shifting into a crouch. Steve rocked back, the concern turning to wariness.

“Go,” Bucky snarled. “Get out.”

“Okay, okay,” Steve said hastily. He scrambled backward and the door opened for him. Bucky caught a glimpse of several people standing outside the door before it slammed shut behind Steve again, and Bucky threw himself at it with a roar.

He wanted out. He wanted out of this room, he wanted fresh air and he wanted his truck that he’d gotten for himself. He wanted his head to stop hurting and he was just so, so tired. Bucky wanted the screaming in his head to stop.

He threw himself against the door a few more times, screaming in rage. He slammed his left arm against it, but there was no give to it at all. After he tired of that, he resorted to kicking and punching at the wall in various places, looking for weaknesses. There were none.

When his hand and feet started to ache too badly from kicking a concrete wall, and threw himself on the floor and started doing push ups. He wished he could run, but the room was too small to allow that. Bucky was used to that though, so he resorted to doing push up after push up, even though his right shoulder sent spikes of pain through his body with each one. He only stopped when his shoulder made a loud cracking noise and gave out. After that, he went back to throwing himself against the walls.

  
After what seemed like hours (he couldn’t be sure, he was losing track of time in here), his body started to give out on him. His head was a little quieter now though, and the rage and irritation had faded back to a more manageable level. He sat back down on the mattress and let his back slide down along the wall so he was lying curled on the mattress. He felt the urge to sleep pushing his eyes closed, and forced himself to fight against it. He tried to focus on sorting through his head, instead, which was becoming one of his favourite pastimes. He felt better with it organized. He tried to line up the flashes he got in his head up in order, sorting them as best he could. He wasn’t very good at it, but he tried anyway.

Some time later (again, Bucky didn’t know how much time had passed. Which was really annoying), the door slid open again and Steve walked back through. He was holding a paper cup and a handful of objects wrapped in plastic. He hesitated at the door, watching Bucky carefully.

“Is it all right if I come in?”

Bucky didn’t bother to sit up. He was tired. He was always tired.

“Yeah”, he muttered through the mess of hair that had fallen over his face.

Steve came closer and set the cup of water down on the floor, staying a safe distance away.

“I brought you some water, if you want it. I brought some granola bars too… I wanted to bring you some actual food, but everyone said I couldn’t give you any utensils. I’ll try to get you some French fries or something later, that you can eat with your hands. This was all we had for the moment, though…” Steve’s voice trailed off, uncertain.

  
Bucky didn’t move. His head hurt.

“I’m also supposed to tell you that none of this is poisoned or anything like that,” Steve said. He looked tired, Bucky noticed. As tired as Bucky felt. Bucky’s head hurt and his arm hurt and he didn’t really care if it was poisoned or not. If it was, at least he wouldn’t be this tired anymore.

“Do you need anything?” Steve asked. “I’m really sorry about this room, too. It’s… I didn’t want to have to lock you in here like this, but you kept trying to hurt us while we tried to bring you here. Everyone said it would be safer to put you in here. At least for now. It won’t be like this forever.”

Bucky didn’t really care anymore. He clearly wasn’t going to be allowed to leave and complete his mission. He definitely wasn’t going to make to the next Hydra base on schedule. Or at all, at this rate. He was tired.

“If you do need anything, just say so, and we’ll hear you.”

Steve’s voice sounded sad. It was probably Bucky’s fault that Steve sounded so sad. He had recently broken Steve’s ribs, after all. He regretted it.

“I’ll go, I guess, but… I’ll be right outside if you need anything. Or, I was supposed to tell you this too, if you want to see someone else other than me, just say so and someone else will come in.”

Steve sounded even sadder as he said that, if that was possible. Did he always sound like that? Did he just sound like that now? Was it Bucky’s fault? Probably.

“All right,” Steve said softly when Bucky didn’t respond. He got up and walked softly out of the room, leaving the food and water behind.

When he was gone, Bucky eyed the food warily. His throat felt like fire every time he breathed, and so he reluctantly reached for the water and drained it in one gulp. After that, he slumped back against the wall and impassively used his left hand to rip the cup apart, into smaller and smaller pieces. This mundane action calmed his swirling mind a little. He liked it.

Bucky ignored the granola bars. He knew better than to eat food given to him. The last time he’d eaten food someone had given him, they’d pushed him to the floor. A couple of them had held him down while a few more kicked at his stomach and ribs and chest until he couldn’t stop coughing and gagging blood. Someone had been screaming at him about how he should know better than to accept food, because he didn’t deserve it and he shouldn’t want things he shouldn’t deserve.

That hadn’t been necessary, though. The feeling of his ribs snapping would have been enough.

When he’d sufficiently destroyed the paper cup, Bucky let himself fall back onto the mattress with his hair hiding his face. He closed his eyes and curled up into a ball with his back against the wall and stayed like that. He didn’t sleep, though. He hated sleeping. He hated sleeping even more than he hated being this tired.

The next two days passed in exactly the same way. Steve would come into the room periodically, usually with more food and water. He’d talk quietly for a while, then leave. Bucky wouldn’t move while he was there, and would only drink the water once he’d left. He always ignored the food. No matter how much his stomach ached, it was nothing compared to the feeling of having boots stamping onto it.

On the third day (or close to it, as close as Bucky could guess), the effects of not getting his scheduled medication started. He knew it was happening when the swirling wreck that was his mind somehow got louder. The memories started to come harder and faster, usually with no context. A little boy throwing a baseball as high into the air as he could, laughing as it landed a few feet away from him. A girl with dark hair and a green dress smiling as she danced through a crowded room. A pile of drawings, casually discarded on an old table with mismatched chairs. A different girl, this one with red hair, watching him intently as she held a long knife in her hand.

Bucky gave up on trying to sort them. His headache was getting worse and his muscles had started to ache and clench. He struggled to keep his heart rate even as sweat began to run down his face and into his hair. He had been trying to count the seconds as they passed, but when his body started to shake against his will, he gave up on that too.  
Not long after that, Bucky heard the door slide open again. He didn’t bother to look up, although he wasn’t sure he could have moved if he tried. His shaking had gotten so bad that wasn’t sure that he could move willingly at all.

Steve knelt beside him, but there were at least two other people in the room with him this time. Bucky just wanted them to leave him alone.

“Bucky? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Steve’s voice was frantic and scared. Bucky didn’t understand why. He wasn’t going to hurt them, obviously. The thought of even lifting his head was exhausting.

“Bruce, what’s going on? What’s happening to him?”

“I don’t know, Steve,” a new voice said. “It could be a delayed shock reaction, it could be his blood sugar, a panic attack, anything. If we can run some quick tests on him we’ll know more-“

Bucky couldn’t stop himself from crying out when he heard that. He immediately clamped his mouth shut again and buried his face further into the mattress, wincing as he felt his skin starting to become uncomfortably hot.

“Okay, okay, no tests,” Steve said hurriedly. “Bruce, there’s got to be something other than that.”

The person apparently called Bruce sighed. “If he’ll let me get an IV in him, we can try and stabilize him that way. He hasn’t eaten, and we don’t know if he was taking any drugs or medications.”

Bucky didn’t want an IV either. He knew what IVs were. He hated them.

“No,” he mumbled into the mattress. “No.”

Bruce sighed again.

“Go away,” Bucky said, his voice muffled.

“Bucky,” Steve started.

“Go. AWAY,” Bucky shouted, using his sudden flare of rage to push himself up. He threw himself at Steve, curling his left arm into a fist as he lunged.

The ease with which Steve just knocked him back down into the floor was pathetic.

“Bruce, go!” Steve shouted at the man standing behind him. Bruce was already halfway through the door, at that point though. Bucky weakly pushed himself back up to his feet and tried to jump at Steve again. Steve easily pushed him back down, and this time he pushed Bucky’s arms down at his side, pinning him down.

Bucky screamed in rage as he struggled to get free. But his legs wouldn’t work right and his arms felt so heavy and painful.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”, Steve was whispering as he held him down. Bucky screamed again, this time his voice breaking. His screaming now punctuated by sobs, Bucky wrenched his left arm out of Steve’s grasp and used it to push him off. He managed to land a half-hearted punch on the side of Steve’s head, but the effort of doing so left him gasping for breath. He curled up on himself again, waiting for Steve’s retaliation. None came, and then someone else rushed into the room.

“Steve. Out,” a woman’s voice ordered.

“Natasha, he needs help!” Steve nearly yelled at her. He reached for Bucky again desperately.

The woman stepped in between Bucky and Steve.

“He’s going to hurt you again, Steve. We need to get out of here,” the woman named Natasha said.

“Something’s wrong with him!” Steve said desperately.

“Yeah, a lot of things,” Natasha muttered under her breath. She grabbed Steve’s arm and tried to pull him towards the door.

“Steve,” Bucky mumbled. Everything hurt. “Steve, please go”.

He really, really didn’t want to hurt Steve.

There was a pause, and then Steve shakily got to his feet.

“Okay,” Steve mumbled. He let Natasha push him back towards the door, and the two of them disappeared through it.

After they left, Bucky didn’t move from his spot on the floor. His body shook and the pain felt like all of his muscles were dying at once. His skin alternated from burning to freezing (he preferred the heat, he hated being cold). The physical pain was so intense that his head actually felt a little better, though. There wasn’t much room for his brain to scream when all of his muscles already were. He was momentarily glad that he hadn’t eaten anything in days, when his stomach started to contract and his raw throat clenched and gagged.

About an hour later, the door opened again. This time it was just Steve who came in. He knelt down next to Bucky again, placing a few cups of water next to him.

“Please drink some of this, Buck,” he mumbled. “It’s either this or we’ll have to try to put an IV in, I’m so sorry.”

Bucky wanted him to stop sounding that desperate, he really did. He struggled to push himself back up into a sitting position, but his right arm gave out again. He would have slumped back down to the floor, but Steve caught him and propped him upright. Steve immediately froze, his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and his eyes wide. He’d clearly moved without thinking about it.

Bucky didn’t have the energy to move away. He let himself slump backward again, letting Steve carefully hold him upright.

Steve cautiously moved his arm around Bucky’s shoulders so he could reach for the water with his other. Bucky took it from him with his left arm, which was still working. He choked on his first sip, and Steve’s arm instinctively tightened around his shoulders. When he could breathe again, Bucky took a deep breath and forced himself to drink the water. Once he’d finished, Steve let him slump back down onto the ground. Steve slid backwards a little, but he didn’t leave.

Gradually, the shaking started to slow a little. The pain was still strong, but darkness was starting to creep into Bucky’s vision and his head was starting to quiet. He was so, so tired.  
He could feel his eyes starting to close slowly.

“Bucky…” Steve said hesitantly. “Is there anything I can bring you? Do you want me to go?”

Bucky let his eyes slide shut and curled up again.

“Steve?” He mumbled into the floor.

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Could you stay, instead?” The darkness was starting to drag Bucky down into it.

There was silence for a moment.

“Yeah,” Steve said softly. “Yeah, of course, Bucky.”

Bucky started to count each of Steve’s slow breaths. He got up to 23 before his mind quieted and he fell asleep.


	4. You are still waiting on me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is still from, you guessed it, "Phantom" by of Of Monsters and Men. I promise to at least use a different song for the next chapter.
> 
> Also, Steve POV this chapter!

                                                                                               STEVE

 

Steve sat as quickly as he could, for hours. He didn’t take his eyes off Bucky, who stayed curled on the floor. He was asleep, finally, or at least seemed to be. He slept restlessly, constantly fidgeting. His breathing was too rapid for a peaceful sleep, and his eyes would occasionally fly open for a moment. He’d frantically survey the room, and after seeing and recognizing Steve, he’d slowly close his eyes again and his breathing would deepen slightly. He seemed to be in pain still, Steve thought, from the way his body trembled and sweat still ran over his skin.

Steve’s legs started to ache after a few hours, and his back hurt from sitting on the floor. He didn’t care. He couldn’t have moved even if he wanted to. He would have been content to sit like that forever, if he had to. He could barely even see Bucky’s face through the tangled hair that had fallen over his face, but it was him. Bucky was here, in front of him, alive. Alive, and breathing.

It didn’t matter how many times Natasha and Sam insisted that the person he knew was gone. They didn’t understand. He knew they meant well. He knew they were trying to protect him.

He also knew that they didn’t know how many times a day he thought about Bucky falling off that fucking train. They didn’t know how many times Steve ran through that day in his head, writing and re-writing it, trying to re-imagine a scenario in which he could have saved Bucky. He could have been faster, he could have tried harder to reach him.  
They didn’t know how Steve would lie awake at night wishing that Bucky had never been on that train at all. It had been ridiculous that they’d ever tried to take that train. That plan was reckless and rushed and Steve had gotten cocky. They’d gotten out of bad situations before, and he and the rest of the Howling Commandos had an unparalleled success rate with their missions. It had crossed Steve’s mind, of course, that something could go wrong. But he’d been so stupidly confident that he could protect them, that he could protect these men that had signed up to follow him wherever he asked.

Natasha would always laugh at his futile attempts to lie to her about anything. She’d tease him about his inability to lie, and she’d smile and shake her head when he jokingly protested. She was right, in a way. Steve didn’t like to lie, and he was bad at it, if he was put on the spot.

The things that Steve hid, though, weren’t the type of things you had to outright lie about. When Sam complained about how early in the morning Steve liked to run, Steve would laugh and say that he liked the morning air and the quiet. He didn’t tell Sam that he liked to run early in the morning because he always woke up after only a few hours of sleep in a cold sweat, staring at the ceiling and trying to blink away his dreams. Most of them weren’t even nightmares. In fact, a lot of his dreams were nice. He would dream about dancing with Peggy, while she wore that red dress he loved so much. He dreamed about sitting in run-down bars with the Howling Commandos, laughing as they all got progressively more drunk and silly. He dreamed about sitting at the table in the terrible apartment he and Bucky had lived in, the two of them counting the money they had for the week and trying to figure out how they’d make it last.

Steve liked these dreams. He liked them a lot. What he didn’t like was waking up from them. For a moment, he’d lie in the darkness with his eyes closed and pretend he was still there. He’d pretend that he was surrounded by people he loved and cared about, and by people who loved and cared about him.

Then he’d hear the distinctive sound of notifications beeping on his phone. He’d feel the forced coolness of the air in his apartment, and the feel of the too-soft bed underneath him. He’d remember.

Steve shook himself back to the present as Bucky shifted slightly. Steve ran his hands through his hair and blinked rapidly, forcing himself to stay awake. Behind him, he heard the door to Bucky’s cell slide open. He glanced at Sam as he walked in, and raised his hand to catch the water bottle Sam tossed at him.

“How’s he doing?” Sam said quietly as he sat down next to Steve.

Steve sighed. “I don’t know. He’s pretty deeply asleep right now, I think.”

Sam was quiet for a few minutes. The two of them sat there, staring at Bucky.

“It looks a little like withdrawal to me,” Sam said finally.

“From what?”

Sam shrugged. “I dunno, man. But I’m guessing they would have had him on some pretty strong stuff to keep him docile like that.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Steve said softly. He kept his arms folded so Sam wouldn’t see how Steve’s hands were shaking, too. For months now, Steve had had one goal that had driven him every moment of every day. It was the only thing he had thought about. It had pushed the darkness out of his mind for a while. He had a reason to wake up every day, a reason to get up and get out of bed. But he hadn’t planned at all for what he would actually do when he found Bucky, and now here he was. Sitting in a cell in the basement of Tony’s tower, staring at the shaking form of the person who used to be his best friend.

“You all right?” Sam asked, eyeing Steve intently. Steve looked at him, surprised.

“Yeah, of course, why?”

Sam shrugged. “This had got to be hard on you. It must be tough, seeing him like this.”

Steve looked back at Bucky.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s tough on me. He needs my help.”

Sam paused.

“Yeah, okay, but how long have you been awake for? Seriously, when was the last time you slept?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t need that much sleep.”

Sam looked like he was trying not to roll his eyes. “Yeah, but you still need some. Look, why don’t you go home for a few hours. Take a nap, take a shower. Get some food. Natasha and I’ll stay, keep an eye on him. Bruce and Tony are right upstairs if we need help.”

“He asked me to stay,” Steve said shortly. “So I’m gonna stay.”

Sam looked like he wanted to say something else, but the look on Steve’s face appeared to dissuade him. He threw his hands in the air in defeat.

“All right, all right. But drink that water. And maybe try and get some sleep while he’s asleep. I’m gonna go try and scrounge up some food for the two of you, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Sam,” Steve mumbled. He wanted to say more. “Thanks” didn’t seem to cover everything Sam had done for him over the last few months, and was still doing.

Sam shrugged as the door open for him. “Don’t worry about it,” he called over his shoulder as he stepped through.

Steve returned his attention to Bucky. Bucky hadn’t stirred at all in the time that Sam had been there, and his breathing had gotten steadier in the last little while. Steve also noticed that his trembling seemed to have abated slightly, which was probably a good sign. Steve really didn’t know.

Half an hour later, Steve’s phone buzzed. He tore his gaze away from Bucky for a moment to read a text from Natasha. All it said was, “what’s his favourite kind of pizza?”

Steve frowned at his phone. He didn’t know. He didn’t fucking know. He didn’t think they’d ever eaten pizza before the war, and they hadn’t exactly had a lot of opportunities during. Finally he just texted back “I don’t know,” and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

It beeped again a moment later. He opened another text from Natasha, this one reading “okay. We’re going with cheese then. Everybody likes cheese pizza.”

Sure enough, the door slid open again a short while after that and Sam and Natasha walked back in. Both of them were somehow balancing numerous food-laden paper plates on their arms like waiters, which seemed to Steve to be a recipe for disaster. He couldn’t help but smile at Natasha’s silent laughter, though. Sam was desperately trying to make it across the room before he dropped everything, and he was also trying to stay quiet enough so as not to wake Bucky up. Natasha, of course, walked confidently across the room and set her plates down next to Steve with ease. Sam scowled at her and she grinned back at him.

“Thanks, guys”, Steve whispered, looking at the array of food on various paper plates. Natasha brushed her hand over Steve’s shoulder as she stood up again.  
“Let us know if you need anything else,” she told him softly as she and Sam turned to leave again. Steve turned to thank her, but she was already pushing Sam out the door again.  
As the door slid shut behind them, Bucky shifted. His eyes flew open, and he immediately scrambled backward so he could press his back against the wall again. His eyes were wide, staring at Steve in blatant fear.

Steve didn’t move.

“Hey, Bucky, it’s okay, it’s me. You’re safe. You’re safe here.”

Bucky’s didn’t respond, his breathing still rapid and his eyes frantic. He still shook slightly, and his skin was pale.

“Sam and Natasha brought a bunch of food, if you want to try some. We didn’t know what you’d like, so we brought a bunch of everything. There’s water too, and juice, and Gatorade. Which, if you don’t know, is like juice except it doesn’t taste as good. You’re supposed to drink it after a fight though, for some reason.” Steve paused, hoping Bucky would speak. Every time he spoke, Steve felt like he was dreaming. Since he’d lost Bucky, he’d only heard his voice in his dreams and in his memories. And now here he was. His voice hadn’t changed, at least not that Steve had noticed. It was a little gravely from disuse, and the intonation was different. But his voice, at the heart of it, was the same.

“Please, Buck,” Steve said softly. “I don’t… I don’t know what’s happening to you right now but you need to eat something. You’ll feel better.”

Bucky stared past him at the wall behind him, and Steve wasn’t sure if Bucky had even heard him. A few minutes of silence later, though, Bucky slowly reached forward and grabbed a cup of water. He drank it in one go, and then hesitantly picked up a piece of plain toast on one of the plates. He ate it slowly and warily, pausing between bites as if he wasn’t really sure what he was doing. Steve wondered how they’d fed him at Hydra. Had they given him real food to eat? Had they fed him completely through IVs? Either way, he doubted Bucky had been given the opportunity to choose what he wanted to eat. The thought of that filled Steve with a flash of rage, and then when he pushed that down, the familiar weight of guilt.

Bucky watched Steve warily as he ate. He was still pressed back against the wall, with his knees pulled up and head bowed. Steve wished there was something he could do to make Bucky understand that he was safe here, but Steve doubted there was anything he could say that would undo 70+ years of torture at Hydra’s hands.

Finally, Bucky finished his piece of toast. He glanced at the still-full plate he’d grabbed it from, but said nothing.

“You can have more, if you’d like,” Steve said as gently as he could. Bucky stared at him warily for a moment, and then his arm darted out and grabbed the whole plate. He ate faster now, and he looked at Steve a little less fearfully.

When he’d eaten a few more pieces of toast, Bucky set the plate back down and quickly reached for another cup of water. Once his hand closed around it, he froze and looked at Steve, his eyes filled with fear.

“It’s all right,” Steve hastily assured him. “You can have anything you want. We brought all this for you.”

Bucky chugged the cup of water again, and then set the cup on his lap. Still looking at Steve under the curtain of his hair, he started to rip the paper cup into smaller and smaller pieces. “Why?” he asked.

The sound of his voice startled Steve, and it took him a moment to formulate an answer. “Why what?” Steve said in return.

Bucky looked down at the pieces of paper in his hands. “Why did you bring this food for me?”

Steve paused, a little confused by the question. “Well… you needed to eat something. You haven’t eaten in the few days that you’ve been with us, and I don’t know how much you were eating before? And we didn’t know what kinds of things you wanted to eat, or what you were used to eating…” his voice trailed off.

Bucky didn’t look up. “Yeah, but… why do you care? Why do you care if I haven’t eaten?”

Steve felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. He should have seen this coming. “You’re my friend. Of course I care.”

Bucky continued to rip the pieces into smaller and smaller pieces. “I’m not. I know that… I know that I was, once. But that was a long time ago. I think. Whoever your friend was, whoever he was to you… that’s not me.”

Steve bit his lip as he tried to think about what to say. “You still are.”

Bucky looked up, frowning.

Steve sighed and tried to continue. “I know that you’ve changed. I don’t know what you’ve gone through, and I won’t pretend to try and understand what you’re going through now. I don’t know how much you remember, how much you remember of me. Of me and you. But I remember. To me, it’s only been a few years since I saw you last, and I missed you. I missed you so fucking much.” His voice broke, and he struggled to deep a breath. Bucky was still staring at him, confusion and sadness warring in his face.

Steve struggled to formulate his next words. “I know that you aren’t the same person that I knew, and I don’t expect you to be. But you’re my friend, and I want to help you. It’s my fault that all this happened to you. You didn’t deserve it, you didn’t deserve any of this, and I am so, so sorry.”

Steve looked back up from where he’d been staring at the floor. Bucky had stopped ripping the cup to pieces, and was watching him. There was silence for a minute.

“Why are you friends helping?” Bucky said shortly. “Why was Sam helping you track me down?”

Steve frowned and opened his mouth to reply, but Bucky cut him off.

“Do they want me to work for them?”

Steve looked at him, horrified. “Bucky, no. Of course not. We would… we would never, ever ask you to do that.”

Bucky looked doubtful.

“Look, Sam was helping me find you because he wanted to. Because he thinks that you didn’t deserve this, either, and he wanted to help you. No other reason than that.”

“And whoever else you have working with you?”

“Friends. They’re all friends, Bucky. I trust them. I wouldn’t let them near you if I didn’t trust them completely.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes slightly. “You trust that many people?”

Steve had to struggle not to smile. For a moment, Bucky had sounded like he used to.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do, Buck.”

Bucky seemed to think this over. “Okay,” he said hesitantly. “Could I… could I have some more water?” Then he looked at the pieces of the ripped-up paper cup on his lap, and looked at Steve worryingly.

Steve smiled. “Yeah, of course. Don’t worry about the cup, there are tons here. I’ll be right back.”

Steve tentatively backed out of the room, leaving Bucky staring at his hands again. The door slid open for Steve, and slid smoothly closed behind him. Tony had asked Jarvis not to say anything to Bucky or to speak in Bucky’s room, but Jarvis was clearly still keeping an eye on the situation.

The hallway outside Bucky’s room was a mess. Empty pizza boxes, bottles of water, and paper plates and cups were scattered haphazardly in piles on the floor. A bunch of plastic folding chairs were set up outside the wall facing into the room, which was actually a one-way window. Natasha and Sam were sitting on two of the chairs, eating pizza.

“Hey,” Steve said as he poured some water from one of the bottles into a cup.

“Hey,” Sam said through a mouthful of pizza. When Steve turned to go back into the room, Sam grabbed the cup out of his hand and immediately passed it to Natasha. She held it tauntingly out of his reach, tipping her chair backward further than Steve thought was really safe.

“We’ll take care of it,” she said. “Go home.”

“I’m not-“ Steve started.

“No way, man,” Sam said, sticking his feet out to block Steve from getting the cup of water back from Natasha. “Go home, even just for tonight. We’ll stay here.”

“I can’t just leave,” Steve said.

“You won’t be any use to him if you start passing out,” Natasha said gently. More gently than was usual for her. “Go home. Eat something. Get some sleep, and come back tomorrow. We’ll take care of him, I promise.”

“Look, he’s already asleep again,” Sam said. Sure enough, Bucky had slumped back over onto the mattress and appeared to be sleeping.

Steve ran his hands through his hair. “You guys aren’t really making this an option, are you.”

“Nope,” Sam and Natasha said at the same time.

They did have a point. Steve actually wasn’t sure when the last time he’d slept was. Or eaten anything.

“All right,” Steve said slowly. “But call me if he wakes up. Or needs anything. Or anything happens.”

“Will do,” Sam said, motioning for him to leave.

“Thanks, guys,” Steve said as he hit the button for the elevator. He took another look at Bucky to make sure that he actually was sleeping. Convinced that he was, Steve reluctantly stepped into the elevator. Sam and Natasha waved cheerfully at him as the doors closed.

Steve unlocked his apartment door, pulling his key out of his pocket. Sam had tried to convince him to get an electronic keyboard for his door when he’d bought this apartment, but Steve had declined. He liked having a key to his apartment. It made it feel a little more like home.

Steve stepped inside, locking the door behind him and carelessly dropping his backpack on the floor. He kicked off his shoes, but made sure to carefully place them on the shoe rack sat next to the door. He stood for a moment, looking around his silent apartment. If he was being honest, he really didn’t like it. At all. He’d bought it because he’d wanted a place in New York after his one in DC was destroyed. Sam had helped him go through the steps of purchasing his own, which Steve was incredibly grateful for, seeing as he’d never actually bought his own apartment before. His old apartment in DC had been given to him by SHIELD, and before the war they’d always rented.

Steve had paid some company to completely decorate and furnish this place for him. He was out of town most of the time anyway, and he wasn’t exactly up to date on modern home decor. They’d done a nice job, Steve knew objectively. Everything was painted in shades of white, dark grey, and blue. All the furniture was sleek and modern. The designers had gone out of their way to make the apartment look lived in. They’d bought paintings and little weird sculptures. Irritating throw pillows and miniature trees were placed strategically all throughout the apartment.

There was nothing of Steve’s there, though. He had no personal items from before the war. The few things he’d collected in his apartment in DC had been books and magazines, and he’d left those behind as well. He had a few clothes hanging up in his room, and a few DVDs that Sam had lent him sitting on the coffee table in the living room. His laptop and tablet had been given to him by Tony, and those too sat on the coffee table.

Steve threw a microwave dinner in the microwave, and poured himself a glass of water while he waited. He drank it slowly, sitting at his table staring aimlessly around his empty apartment. When his microwave beeped, Steve got up and turned his stereo on before grabbing his dinner. Natasha and Clint had given him an Ipod pre-loaded with music that they thought he’d like. He let one of their playlists play through as he ate slowly at his too-small kitchen table in a really, really uncomfortable kitchen chair. When he’d finished, he tossed his dishes in the sink and headed to his too-modern washroom to shower.

When he’d showered and changed into clean clothes, Steve lay down on his too-soft bed and stared at the ceiling. He was tired, he definitely was, but his mind was racing. His room was too quiet, these walls were too plain, and he was so fucking alone.

He tried turning on the fancy, expensive television set into the wall, and flipped aimlessly through the channels. He skipped all the news channels (he wasn’t in the mood for seeing whatever atrocity was happening today), and finally settled on some mindless home renovation show.

Even the homeowner’s complaints about her need for granite countertops couldn’t drown out the whirling thoughts in Steve’s head. He obsessively ran through a list of things he needed to do, chores he needed to get done. He started a whole separate list in his head for things he needed to get for Bucky. He also started making mental notes on things to ask Natasha and Sam about how he should deal with Bucky. That led to a list of things he could do for Natasha and Sam to make up for all their help.

Steve sighed and slunk lower down onto his abundance of pillows (why had the designer bought so many pillows? Who needed this many pillows on a bed? Why not get rid of the bed entirely and just have pillows?)

He really hated this apartment.

With another sigh, Steve finally got back up and threw on some jeans and a shirt. He shoved his phone into his pocket, and grabbed his backpack again. He locked his door behind him, and compulsively checked it twice before jogging down the 8 flights of stairs to the ground floor. He felt a little better as he stepped outside into the evening air and was instantly surrounded by noise and people. He ducked his head down and made his way through the crowd unnoticed.


	5. And I have seen lives revoked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I told you I'd shake up the chapter title. This one is from the song "Hope In The Air", by Laura Marling.
> 
> Natasha POV this time!

                                                                                                NATASHA

Natasha was sitting on one plastic folding chair outside Bucky’s room with her feet propped up on another one when the alarm went off.

Immediately she was back on her feet, knife in one hand and gun in the other. She spared a quick glance at Bucky, but Jarvis didn’t appear to be broadcasting the alarm into his room. He hadn’t moved at all from where he’d been when Steve left. He was curled on his mattress, his face hidden by his hair. Sam had gone home an hour earlier, and Clint hadn’t shown up to replace him yet.  

Natasha was just heading for the door at the end of the hallway that lead to the staircase when it burst open and Clint raced through. His hair was messy and disheveled, and she was pretty sure his shirt was inside-out.

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” he asked frantically when he saw her, his bow in hand and quiver slung across his shoulder.

She frowned at him, even as she scanned the empty hallway for potential threats. “I don’t know! I haven’t seen anything.”

Clint frowned back and looked through the window at Bucky. “Oh. I ran all the way down here because I thought he’d done something.”

Natasha shook her head as she started to head towards the door Clint had come through. “No, this is something else. I think. Jarvis?” she asked.

“Already tried that. No answer,” Clint said as he followed her.

“That’s not good,” Natasha muttered as she pushed open the door with her elbow, so as not to drop her gun. She spared a quick glance behind her, just in time to catch a glimpse of Clint grabbing a piece of pizza from one of the boxes scattered on the floor. “Clint!”

“Okay, sorry, sorry, I’m coming,” he mumbled as he shoved the pizza in his mouth and ran after her. “I missed dinner, obviously.”

The two of them raced up the ridiculously ornate spiral staircase, with Natasha in front and Clint a few steps behind her.

“I’m sure the elevator’s still working”, Clint muttered as they took the stairs two at a time.

“Yeah, I’d love to get into a giant metal box in a building where the electronics are clearly malfunctioning,” Natasha responded as she used the railing to vault up another set of stairs.

“See!” Clint protested as he dodged a few Stark employees heading dutifully down the stairs. “No one believes me when I tell them you’re actually really sarcastic. I should start recording this.”

Natasha ignored that as she continued to take stock of the situation. The alarm was still going strong, but they hadn’t run into anyone trying to attack them yet. Stark employees moved out of their way as they ran, but none of them seemed particularly worried. Natasha had to assume that evacuating the building during alarms was a typical thing for them.

By the time they burst through the door to Tony’s apartment, using the special key Tony had given them, both of them were out of breath. Tony and Bruce were already there, both of them staring at several screens that looked to be streaming security footage from the building.

“What’s going on?” Clint demanded. Bruce turned to look at them, looking relieved at their presence.

“Is Bucky okay?” he asked, looking worried.

“He’s fine,” Natasha said as she quickly scoped out the room. When she didn’t see any immediate threats, she joined Tony in staring at the security screens. To her, they showed nothing but Stark employees calmly evacuating the building.

“What,” Clint tried again. “Is going on? Why the fuck is that alarm going off?”

“I don’t know. We don’t know,” Tony said impatiently. “I have Jarvis running scans on all my networks and systems, and on the building itself too. But there’s nothing.” He threw his hands up in the air impatiently and grabbed a coffee mug from the table, quickly draining whatever was in it.

Clint looked to Bruce for more information. Bruce shrugged. “Something triggered Jarvis’s defenses, but whatever it was doesn’t seem to be here anymore. Either it gave up, or it was testing us.”

Clint frowned and glanced at Natasha. “That… doesn’t sound great. Testing us?”

Bruce looked worriedly at the screens. “We just don’t know. We don’t even know if it was a physical threat, or a digital one.”

“Could they be going after Bucky?” Natasha asked. All three men turned to look at her.

“It’s possible,” Bruce said. “But whoever it was has no way of getting to him. That room he’s in is built to hold me. No one is getting in there without Tony’s express permission.”

“Whoever this is does _not_ have my express permission”, Tony muttered. He was rapidly flipping through menus on his tablet now, still frowning.

“We should get Steve back here,” Natasha decided.

Clint nodded. “He’s at home, right? He should be fairly safe there, but I’ll call him.” He pulled out his phone and dialed Steve, turning away slightly as he made the call. He turned back a moment later though, frowning.

“His phone’s off. He never turns his phone off.”

Natasha’s heart thudded slightly. “If his phone’s off, we can’t track him, either. We should-“

“You can,” Tony interrupted, not looking up from his tablet. “You can track him even if he turned that phone off.”

“But how -“ Natasha started, and scowled as Tony interrupted her again.

“I built that phone. Of course I’d put a permanent tracking device on it.” He tossed his tablet back onto the table and grabbed another, tapping at it rapidly.

Clint looked worriedly down at the phone in his hand. “Can you do that with all of our phones, or…”

Tony tossed the tablet to Natasha. “That’s where he is. Got the exact address and everything.”

Natasha glanced at the tablet, memorizing the information. “All right. I’ll go find him. I’ll call if there’s a problem. Clint, can you keep an eye on Bucky?”

Clint was still staring at his phone, but looked up when she addressed him. “Yeah, of course. Are you sure you want to go find Steve alone though? He might be in trouble.”

Natasha raised one of her eyebrows a fraction of an inch, just enough so that Clint would notice. “I’m sure.”

Clint sighed, surrendering. He disappeared back into the stairwell, and Natasha heard the distinctive sound of him jumping from landing to landing in an attempt to spend up his descent.

“You’ll call if there’s trouble?” Bruce asked Natasha.

“Yes,” she assured him. “Tony, is it safe for me to take the elevator?”

He glanced up at her, looking at her directly for the first time. His forehead was furrowed with frustration and worry. “Yeah. There’s a car waiting for you out front, just tell them where to go. Bruce, can you run this program for me?”

Natasha disappeared into the elevator as the two of them went back to scanning the security feeds. She thought about calling Thor while she waited for the elevator to take her to the ground, but he was off in some desert with his girlfriend. Until they knew more about the threat, there was no need to disturb him.

Natasha felt her heart start to sink as the address turned out to be a nursing home and care facility. She’d noticed Steve’s silence in the Hydra base, when she’d asked him who the woman in the picture was. Since then, she’d done a little more research on Steve, and in turn on Peggy Carter. Of course, Natasha never did anything half way, and she knew that this particular nursing home was the one where Peggy Carter currently resided. Sure enough, when she asked the woman at the front desk where Peggy’s room was, the lady pointed her to a room down the hall.

She hesitated for a moment outside the door, but steeled herself and knocked. When there was no response, she pushed it open and stepped inside.

The room was bright and cheerful, with the last remaining sunlight filtering in through the window. The room was carefully decorated, with books scattered over the desks and tables. Photographs of smiling people were pinned to the walls. The woman lying on the bed looked at her when she walked in, and silently put a finger to her lips, urging Natasha to be quiet.

Natasha felt herself relax slightly when she saw Steve. He was sitting in a chair next to Peggy Carter’s bed. His head and shoulders rested on the edge of Peggy’s bed, though, and one of his hands was clasped in hers. He was asleep, with his head on his arms and his face more relaxed then Natasha had ever seen. Natasha scanned the room, and noticed no danger. The tiny video cameras positioned around the room didn’t escape her notice though, and she made a mental note to mention it to Steve later.

Peggy Carter watched Natasha as she paused awkwardly in the middle of the room. Natasha had read that Peggy suffered from Alzheimer’s, but today her eyes were sharp and she watched Natasha intently.

“I’m sorry for barging in here,” Natasha started. “Steve’s phone was off, and we were worried.”

“I turned it off,” Peggy replied, her eyes not leaving Natasha’s. “He checks it a couple times a minute. He needed the rest.”

Natasha nodded, looking fondly at Steve. He looked so much younger like this, when his face wasn’t as strained and stressed.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha said suddenly, remembering where she was. “I’m –“

“I know who you are.”

Peggy’s reply caught Natasha off guard. She was saved from having to respond, though, because Peggy continued.

“Natasha Romanov. Black Widow.”

Natasha paused, and then answered simply. “Yes.”

Peggy regarded her for a moment longer, and then her face softened slightly. She turned to look at Steve, smiling gently as she looked at him.

“Steve told me that you’re his friend. He trusts you.”

Natasha had to work to hide the way her heart twisted at that.

Peggy didn’t seem to expect her to respond. “It’s good. He needs friends. He deserves good friends.”

“Yes,” Natasha said softly. “He does.”

There was silence for a moment, before Peggy spoke again.

“He needs sleep too, you know. He lies and says that he doesn’t, but he needs just as much sleep as everyone else.”

“Of course he does,” Natasha said, but there was fondness in her voice.

“You have to keep an eye on him,” Peggy said, a little more sharply. “He’s stubborn. And he has no idea how to take care of himself.”

“’I’ve noticed,” Natasha said dryly. When Peggy turned to look at her, she found herself subconsciously trying to stand up a little straighter. “We try. I try.”

Peggy watched her for a moment later, and whatever she saw seemed to appease her. She turned her attention back to Steve, watching him with a look of love that made Natasha’s heart twist again.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha said a moment later. “But… there was an emergency. I promised I’d bring Steve back with me.”

Peggy’s mouth twisted slightly. “There always is,” she said softly. Then she carefully pulled her hand out of Steve’s, and gently ran her hand over the side of his face. “Steve,” she whispered gently.

He woke up instantly. He sat up, staring at Peggy worriedly. “Peggy? What’s wrong?”

Peggy glanced at Natasha, and Steve followed her gaze. He jumped to his feet when he saw her, running his hand through his hair. “Natasha?” What’s wrong? What are you doing here? Is it Bucky? Is he okay?” he asked, frowning at her.

Natasha felt guilt creep into her mind. This clearly wasn’t a place or a situation Steve was comfortable sharing with her.

“No, no, he’s fine,” Natasha assured him. “There was some kind of security breach at the tower though, and we couldn’t reach you, your phone is off.”

Steve frowned again, grabbing his phone off the nightstand and flipping it back on. “Security breach? Is everyone okay?”

“Everyone’s fine. We were just worried about you.”

Steve looked at her weirdly as she said it, but he grabbed his backpack from beside his chair and shoved his phone back in his pocket. “We need to get back to the tower, then. Peggy, I’m so sorry, I know I promised to come last week, but something came up and -“

“Steve,” Peggy interrupted, smiling. “It’s fine. I had a nice talk with your friend Natasha.”

Steve was practically pushing Natasha out of the room by then. “I’ll come by next week, Peggy!”

Natasha noticed that Peggy’s face had changed to a resigned and sad smile. “I know, Steve. Be safe.”

Once outside the room, Steve moved so quickly that Natasha had to double her steps to keep up. “Steve,” she tried.

“How did you find me here?” he asked as he pushed open the front door of the nursing home. He held it open for her to walk through.

“Tony apparently has trackers in our phones,” Natasha said.

“Hm,” Steve said shortly.

They climbed into the car Tony had sent for them. Steve held Natasha’s door open for her again, but he was still staring off into space and scowling slightly.

“Steve,” she tried again once the car had been driving for a few minutes. “I’m sorry about coming here. To Peggy’s room. We just didn’t know where you were, and if you were okay.”

“It’s fine,” he said shortly. “I shouldn’t have left the tower. Don’t worry about it.” The look on his face clearly said that he didn’t want to talk about this anymore. He pointedly pulled out his phone and started flipping through it.

Natasha wanted to say more, but she also knew that Steve couldn’t be running on more than a few hours of sleep in the last week.

 They rode back to the tower in silence. Steve stared out the window, his body tense and his face tired. Natasha spent the entire ride wondering if Steve was upset with her. This bothered her more than she cared to admit. She’d spent nearly her entire life making people angry, but she couldn’t stand the thought of Steve being angry with her. She hadn’t meant to upset him. She knew that his relationship with Peggy was something that he preferred to keep to himself as much as possible, and she had genuinely just been worried about his safety.

She didn’t know how to go about explaining that to him properly. She was good with her words, she always had been. But she didn’t know how to go about this.

The ride back was uneventful. Steve went straight to Bucky’s room once they arrived, with Natasha trailing behind.

Clint was still sitting in the hall when they came in. He looked up, relief flashing across his face when he saw the two of them come in.

“He was fine,” Natasha explained, walking up stand next to him. “He’d just turned his phone off.”

Clint brushed her hand slightly with his, and she let her hand touch his shoulder gently. He’d been worried about her going after Steve alone, even though he knew better than anyone that she could take care of herself.

“You scared us for a minute, Steve,” Clint said reproachfully. Steve was standing outside the window looking into Bucky’s room, with his forehead resting on the glass slightly.

“Sorry,” he said softly. “Is Bucky all right?”

Bucky didn’t seem to have moved much since Natasha had left. He was awake now, but was just sitting cross legged on the mattress. He was staring blankly straight ahead.

“He seems okay,” Clint said. “Hasn’t moved. I went in there once and offered him some water and food. He drank the water when I left, and he ate another piece of toast.”

Steve nodded, and turned from the window to face them. “Thanks, Clint. And you too, Natasha. You shouldn’t have had to come and get me. I’m sorry.”

Natasha stared at him, but Steve had already turned around to look at Bucky again. “Were they coming after him?” he asked.

Clint and Natasha glanced at each other quickly.

“We don’t know,” Natasha said. “We still don’t know who “they” were, exactly, or what they wanted.”

“The timing though…” Clint said quietly. “Bucky’s only been here for a few days, and now the tower’s under attack from something?”

Steve nodded again. Natasha couldn’t see his face, but his shoulders were tense and his hands were curled into fists.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said again. “This is putting you all in danger.”

Clint looked at Natasha, frowning. “No, Steve, it’s fine. Look, we-“

Steve suddenly pushed himself back from the window, and tapped the panel next to the door. It slid open, and Steve walked into Bucky’s room. Bucky looked up when he came in, and Natasha thought that his face seemed to relax a little when he recognized Steve.

“Bucky, we have to go. Now,” Steve said hurriedly. He extended a hand to help Bucky up, but Bucky was already on his feet, his eyes more aware then they’d been in days. He watched Steve intently.

Steve didn’t hesitate. He turned on his heel and moved quickly back into the hallway. Bucky moved behind him silently, like a shadow.

Clint and Natasha looked each other, alarmed. “Hey, Steve, no,” Clint said as he jogged to catch up with Steve and Bucky. “Look, Steve, it’s safer to keep him here, come on-“

Clint put his hand on Steve’s chest to stop him from moving, and in a flash Bucky had Clint pinned up against the wall. His metal arm was wrapped around Clint’s throat, his body tense. Natasha had moved the instant Bucky had, and she had her knife pressed up against his throat. The three of them were frozen like that for an instant, with Bucky glaring hatefully at Clint, Clint staring resolutely at Bucky, and Natasha scowling at Bucky.

“STOP,” Steve roared. “Bucky, let him go. Natasha, stop, please. All of you.”

Bucky dropped Clint instantly. Clint scrambled away from him, rubbing his throat and breathing heavily. Bucky turned to stare down at Natasha, who hadn’t moved her knife from his throat. Bucky narrowed his eyes at her, and a frown flitted across his face. Some of the intensity disappeared from his gaze, and he appeared to be studying her with confusion.

“Natasha”, Steve said again. Natasha slowly pulled her knife away from Bucky’s throat, not breaking his eye contact with her. Behind Steve, the elevator doors slid open.

“Bucky,” Steve said as he stepped inside. Bucky backed into the elevator, not taking his eyes off Natasha.

Steve was running his hand through his hair as he waited for the elevator doors to close. He looked exhausted, and his face was lined with stress. Bucky had moved to stand slightly behind him, still looking at Natasha curiously.

“Steve,” Clint tried again, still rubbing his throat. “Just wait a minute. Talk to Tony and Bruce first, at least.”

Steve shook his head. “It’s too dangerous, Clint.”

The elevator doors slid shut, leaving Natasha and Clint standing in the hallway. Clint sat down on one of the folding chairs, running his hands through his hair.

“Why’s he running like this?” Clint asked. “This is easily the safest place for Bucky right now. Even without all of Stark’s security, we’re all here!”

“It’s not that,” Natasha said distractedly. She sat down next to Clint, absentmindedly twisting her knife around her fingers. “He doesn’t want to put us in danger, I think.”

Clint laughed shortly. “He does know what we’re pretty much always in danger, right?”

“I think he’s trying to do the best he can,” Natasha said, watching the light reflect off her knife. “I think he thinks he’s being a burden, having Bucky here. He’s going try and do it on his own.”

Clint sighed and tilted his head back. “We’re going to go after him, aren’t we?”

“Of course,” Natasha replied. “I’ll try calling him in a few hours, and I’ll talk to Sam, too. Sam can usually get through to him.”

Just then, Tony’s voice suddenly blared through the hallway. “Does anyone want to tell me why I just saw Cap leaving with his brainwashed assassin best friend in tow?”

Clint sighed, and tossed the empty pizza box beside him at the button for the elevator.

As the elevator moved silently through the many floors of the tower, Clint spoke up again.

“He wasn’t trying to hurt me,” he said thoughtfully. Natasha turned to look at him, her expression doubtful.

“No, really,” Clint insisted. “He was just holding me there. We both know that if he’d wanted to crush my throat, he could have.”


	6. Like he'd already lost the fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of this chapter is from the same song as last time, "Hope In The Air", by Laura Marling.

                                                                                      BUCKY

Bucky flinched as they burst outside into the evening light. He’d spent the last few days in an extremely sensory deprived environment, and the sudden onslaught of stimuli was overwhelming. Steve hadn’t faltered at all, though, and Bucky hurried to catch up. Steve shouldered his way through the crowded sidewalk quickly, glancing behind repeatedly to make sure that Bucky was still with him. They’d only been moving for a few minutes when Steve glanced back at Bucky, did a double take, and then stopped dead. Alarm was written all over his face.

“Bucky? Are you okay?”

Bucky didn’t respond. His heart was pounding so quickly that it was obstructing his hearing, and his eyes flickered frantically over the crowd. His skin felt like it was prickling all over, and his legs felt so weak that he was having trouble standing.

Steve was swearing under his breath as he grabbed Bucky’s shirt and pulled him into a quiet alley, away from the crowds. Bucky didn’t even flinch away from the contact, he was so focused on scanning for danger.

“Buck, it’s okay, we’re safe, I’m sorry,” Steve said frantically. “Look, I should have thought about this more. I didn’t think about the crowds. We’ll get a taxi or something, it’ll be better that way- jesus, you’re not even wearing shoes.”

Bucky looked at his feet. He was wearing the clothes they’d given him a few days ago. Simple sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and soft slippers. He hadn’t noticed.

Steve was already untying one of his own shoes. “Look, take mine, I should have thought about this-“

“Steve,” Bucky said. He tried to make his voice sound normally, but it came out gravelly and shaky. “I’m not taking your shoes.”

Steve paused, his eyes searching Bucky’s face. “All right, all right. Okay, we have to keep moving, but I’ll try and get a taxi.”

The thought of climbing into a car driven by someone else made Bucky’s stomach turn. Apparently it showed in his face, because Steve ran his hands through his hair worriedly.

“Where are we going?” Bucky asked, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. He was trying to slow his heart rate down, but it wasn’t working.

“Uh, to my apartment, I think,” Steve said. “It’s the best I’ve got right now, I didn’t really think…”

“Could I, uh, could I meet you there?”

Steve stared at him. “Meet me there?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “If, that’s okay with you.”

“Um, I guess,” Steve said slowly, clearly trying to think it through. “Here, I have the address written down.”

Steve searched through the pockets of his jacket and handed a piece of paper to Bucky. “Will you be able to find it?”

“Yes,” Bucky said, glancing at the address and then handing it back to Steve. “I have a map of New York memorized.”

Steve was still looking at him strangely. There was a look on his face that Bucky didn’t know how to interpret.

“Yeah, yeah I can meet you there, but…” Steve’s voice trailed off. “Are you… are you actually going to be there? When I get there?”

“Of course,” Bucky said, confused. Where else would he go?

Steve was still watching him. “All right,” he said finally.

Bucky turned away from him, and in seconds had crossed the alleyway and jumped up onto a fire escape. He scaled it easily, not looking back. He felt his heart rate beginning to settle as he jumped from rooftop to rooftop, his muscles stretching and relaxing back into a rhythm he was used too. He still felt weak, annoyingly so. A few times, he had to drop back down to street level and struggle through the crowds for a few minutes when there were gaps in the rooftops that he couldn’t handle.

He navigated his way through New York perfectly. He hadn’t been here in… well, Bucky didn’t know how long it had been, but the map he’d memorized with Hydra had been exact.

He made it to the front door of Steve’s apartment building before Steve did. He had to sit down while he waited, because his legs simply wouldn’t take his weight anymore. His left arm hung limply from his shoulder, and Bucky carefully cradled it with his other arm. It was heavy at the best of times, and now he felt acutely felt his entire body struggling to hold it up.

Steve arrived a few minutes later, rounding the corner quickly. He visibly relaxed when he saw Bucky, a smile breaking out on his face. “You made it!”

Bucky didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. Of course he’d made it. He’d said he would.

Steve pushed open the door to his building, gesturing to Bucky to follow him. Bucky stumbled as he stood up, and had to catch himself against the wall.

Steve reached out to grab Bucky’s arm, his face worried, but Bucky flinched away from him. “I’m fine,” he muttered.

Steve didn’t say anything, but he clearly didn’t believe Bucky. He didn’t try and touch him again, though, and instead just lead the way into his building.

“There’s no elevator,” he said, apologetically. He started to climb the stairs slowly, casting Bucky a wary look.

Bucky sized up the stairs and determinedly glared at them. He made it up two flights of stairs before he had to stop and lean against the wall, his legs trembling. Steve didn’t say anything, just waited quietly until Bucky moved again. Finally, they made it to Steve’s floor. He unlocked the door to his apartment and went in, holding the door for Bucky behind him.

Bucky walked in shakily, his tired eyes immediately scanning for threats. Steve’s apartment was quiet, though, and it didn’t even seem like someone lived there.

Steve rushed around his kitchen while Bucky stood awkwardly by the door. Steve filled a couple of glasses up with water, and left them on the counter. He grabbed food out of his cupboards, and was haphazardly throwing boxes of cereal and loaves of bread onto the counter.

“Are you hungry? Or thirsty?” he asked, turning to look at Bucky for the first time. Bucky was, actually, but he shook his head slowly.

“All right,” Steve said, more to himself than to Bucky. He carefully stepped past Bucky and headed down the hallway of his apartment. He opened a door, and gestured for Bucky to follow him. Bucky followed him silently into the room.

“This can be your room, if you want,” Steve said. “It’s not all that fancy or anything, but it’s already stocked with towels and things like that.”

It looked plenty nice to Bucky. It was tastefully decorated like the rest of the apartment, in soft shades of blue and grey. The bed took up most of the room, but there was still enough room for an armchair, a few bookshelves, and a wardrobe. A few paintings and photographs hung on the walls, but they were all generic nature landscapes. Bucky didn’t know anything about Steve’s decorating sense, but he doubted he would have picked these out for himself.

Steve was still talking. “There’s a bathroom across the hall that’s all yours, if you want, and obviously you can use the living room and kitchen whenever you want. My room’s down the hall.”

Steve had already moved back out into the hall and was pointing out all the different doors. Bucky followed obediently.

When Steve had apparently finished his tour, he turned to look at Bucky again. “I guess I’ll lend you some of my clothes. They’ll probably fit you, and we can get you some of your own soon…”

He trailed off, clearly not really knowing what to say next.

“Thank you,” Bucky said. Steve stared at him, a frown settling over his face.

“Don’t… don’t thank me,” Steve said softly. He turned abruptly and walked back to the kitchen.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” he asked. “Can I make you just a sandwich or something?”

Bucky wasn’t hungry, but he also had darkness swimming at the corner of his eyes and his legs were trembling dangerously. “Okay,” he said softly. He hesitantly sat down at Steve’s kitchen table. The chair he was sitting in was really uncomfortable.

Steve made him some kind of sandwich in what had to be record time. He carefully set down the plate in front of Bucky, and then put two glasses of water next to it. He sat down in the chair opposite Bucky, watching him anxiously. He hadn’t eaten anything himself, but Bucky didn’t dare comment on it, even though he wanted to.

He ate slowly, like usual. It was actually a really good sandwich, but each bite sat like lead in his stomach. He felt too full after only a few bites, but forced himself to keep eating. He managed to drink one of the glasses of water, as well.

When he finished, he stared at his empty plate for a moment.

“Do you want anything else?” Steve asked. Bucky shook his head again, slowly. His head still ached, and moving it too quickly made it hurt more.

“Could I…” Bucky said slowly. He wasn’t used to asking for things. So far, Steve hadn’t seemed to be angry about anything Bucky did, and so he felt comfortable enough to ask. “Could I shower?”

Steve looked happy that he’d asked this. “Yeah, yeah of course! There are towels in your rooms, and there’s shampoo and soap already in the bathroom… I’ll leave some of my clothes in your room, you can wear those for now.”

Bucky nodded, and carefully stood up. He wasn’t sure what to do with his plate and glass, but Steve grabbed them from the table and was already putting them in the dishwasher.

It took Bucky a minute to figure out how to work the shower, but when he did, he turned the water to the hottest setting. He stood under the water, tilting his head so that the water ran down over his shoulders and his back. He felt his headache start to lessen a little as the muscles in his neck start to relax. He only got out of the shower when the heat started to make him feel sick.

He put on the clothes Steve had left for him, once he was back in his room. Once he was dressed, he checked once to make sure the door was closed. Then, he started to prowl around the room, making sure there were no cameras or microphones or any other kinds of bugs. He’d check the whole apartment when he got the chance, but he didn’t want to potentially upset Steve by looking while he was here.

There were no bugs that he could find, but the single window in the room wasn’t as shut as securely as Bucky would have liked. He’d have to figure out how to do something about that later. Now that those tasks were done, he wasn’t sure what to do next. He wasn’t used to having an open schedule, at all. He didn’t really know if he liked it or not. Structure was easier.

The temporary respite from the worst of his headache gave Bucky the courage to step out into the hall. He moved silently into the living room.

Steve, too, had showered. He was on the couch, with some sort of history book open in his lap and a notebook beside him. He was flipping through the book and jotting something down in the notebook. The look on his face was one of concentration, but he also looked like he could fall asleep any second.

One wall of the apartment had floor to ceiling windows, and one of the armchairs was positioned so that it faced the window. Bucky moved silently towards it, but it creaked quietly when he sat down.

Steve visibly jumped, nearly knocking his book onto the floor. He relaxed when he saw Bucky sitting in the chair. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but Bucky looked away from him. The windows offered him a view of the busy street below. People walked along the sidewalk, all at different paces. Some had their arms linked with others, and some shouldered people out of their way as they rushed along. A couple people had dogs. Bucky saw three children with balloons. Four people were eating as they walked, and 6 were talking on their phones.

By then, night had fallen, but the street was still bright enough to see clearly. Bucky felt exhaustion pushing down on his eyes, but he ignored it. He hated sleeping, and he liked watching this street.

Steve didn’t say anything else, and the silence in the apartment went on for hours. The only interruptions were Steve’s phone buzzing occasionally. Every time it made a noise, Steve would glare at it and hit a button on the screen. Then, it would be quiet again for a few minutes before someone else tried to text or call him.

Finally, after the shadows on the street had shifted considerably, and Bucky’s legs started to ache from sitting in the same position for so long, Steve picked up his phone when it started to ring again. He hurried into his room down the hall with it, but Bucky could still hear the conversation easily.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, Sam. Really.”

It sounded like he was pacing back and forth in his room.

“Yeah, I mean, as fine as he can be right now, I guess. He ate and took a shower and now he’s just kind of…staring out the window. But he seems okay.”

“Yes, I’m _fine_. Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to take off like that. I didn’t plan this.”

“No! Something nearly got through Stark’s security, Sam. It was probably after Bucky, and it’s not fair of me to risk everyone else’s lives like this.”

“I don’t care if they don’t mind! I mind! They shouldn’t have to take on this responsibility, it’s mine.”

Steve’s voice was getting louder.

“No, okay, Sam-“

“Just let me… it’s fine. We’re fine here. I can handle whatever it was that tried to attack the tower, and I think we both know Bucky is more than capable of protecting himself if he needs to. And I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you’ve been running yourself into the ground trying to help me-“

“No! Sam, no, you don’t get it. You weren’t there, you don’t understand-“

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Look, Sam, I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry for snapping at you. I appreciate your help, I really do.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

“Yeah. I know it’s late, but Bucky’s still awake-“

“I will. But you don’t have to-“

“No, that’s not… okay, fine. Yeah. Goodnight.”

Bucky heard Steve’s pacing stop, and it sounded like Steve had leaned against the while. A moment later, Steve walked back out into the living room looking even more tired than before. He sat down on the couch again, avoiding Bucky’s gaze. He picked up his book again and flipped listlessly through it.

Bucky returned to watching the street below. His head still ached, but the soft light in the apartment from a few weird-looking lamps made it easier on his eyes. The silence helped as well.

When Bucky glanced at Steve again, the morning sun had started to creep over the buildings that Bucky could see from his window. The first rays were peeking through the window when Bucky noticed that at some point, Steve had fallen asleep. He was still sitting on the couch, but his head was tipped back against the wall and his breathing was slow and even.

Neither of them moved until the sun was fully out, and the apartment was filled with light again. It hurt Bucky’s head.

He heard a soft knock on the door, and was on his feet instantly. Steve didn’t stir. Bucky moved quickly to the kitchen, and pulled open the drawer where he’s seen Steve pull utensils out of. Sure enough, the drawer held spoons and forks, but no knives. Bucky felt a strange pang of sadness at that. Steve must have moved them while he was in the shower.

Bucky was weirdly upset that Steve didn’t trust him enough to have knives in the house. Which didn’t make sense either, because obviously Bucky shouldn’t be trusted with knives. He’d tried to kill Steve on multiple times. If he were Steve, he wouldn’t want knives around either. Logically, this made sense, but-

Bucky was distracted from his thoughts by another knock on the door, a little louder this time. Steve still didn’t move, and Bucky grabbed a fork from the drawer. He could think of 28 ways to kill or injure someone with a fork, and those were just the quick ways. This would do.

He moved cautiously to the door, and opened it a fraction of an inch. He relaxed slightly when he saw that it was just Sam standing on the other side.

Sam raised an eyebrow when he saw Bucky glaring at him through the crack in the door.

 


	7. But he is restless at night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title this time is from "Run", by Daughter. Which is an excellent Steve/Bucky song, by the way.
> 
> There's some self-harm in this chapter.

“Hey. Can I come in?”

Bucky thought about this for a moment, and ran through everything he knew about Sam in his head. Deciding that Sam didn’t pose a threat to him or to Steve, he nodded and opened the door wide enough for Sam to step through.

Sam paused when he noticed Steve asleep on the couch, and he smiled softly. While Bucky watched, Sam quietly helped himself to a glass of water and an apple.

Sam leaned against the counter, watching Bucky curiously. Bucky stared back, watching him warily.

“I never got a chance to thank you,” Sam said finally. Bucky frowned.

“For what?”

Sam took another bite of his apple. “From what I heard, you went back into that Hydra base and pulled me out. Looked like you got pretty hurt doing it, too.”

Bucky frowned. “I also tried to kill you, though.” He narrowed his eyes at Sam. “I threw you over the edge.”

Sam nodded, his eyes not leaving Bucky’s face. “Yeah, that happened. But I was trying to attack you, too. You did what you had to do.”

Bucky thought about this. Sam wasn’t wrong. Bucky didn’t have any anger toward Sam. He hadn’t then, either. Sam had been in his way. He’d had anger towards Natasha, even if he’d hadn’t narrowed down the reason why yet. He’d felt rage towards Steve. But Sam had just been an obstacle in the way of his mission.

Once he’d thought this through, Bucky nodded slowly.

“So, thank you. For getting me out of that Hydra bullshit,” Sam continued. He was speaking quietly, so as not to wake Steve, but he seemed relaxed. Bucky wasn’t used to people being relaxed in his presence.

“Anyway, how are you?” Sam ate his apple calmly as he waited for Bucky’s response. Bucky looked away from him. He didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t know how he was doing. He didn’t have anything to measure his current state against, except for how he’d been before. Which he still wasn’t all that clear about.

Sam seemed to realize this, from Bucky’s silence.

“Are you feeling all right?” he asked instead.

“Headache,” Bucky responded quietly. Sam nodded at that.

“Yeah. I’d be surprised if you didn’t have a headache, considering the circumstances. When everything cools down a little around here, I’ll make sure we get you some help with that, all right?”

Bucky nodded slowly.

“Anything else?”

Bucky thought about this while he stared down at his left hand, watching it clench and unclench. His shoulders and neck were aching. Something was wrong with his right knee, but it still worked and therefore it didn’t matter. His chest felt tight constantly, and his heart rate was usually too high. None of these things seemed important enough to mention to Sam. He shook his head again.

Sam raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t question it. “How’s it going being here? With Steve? Heard he staged some kind of impromptu prison break.”

“I like it here,” Bucky said immediately. His quick response surprised even him, but he did. He did like it here. It was calm, and quiet, and there was no schedule. Bucky was starting to think that he liked not having a schedule. His heart rate had slowed while he was here, and his chest had loosened a little.

Sam smiled at that. “That’s good! It’ll-“

He was interrupted by Steve abruptly waking up. His eyes snapped open and he jumped to his feet, his eyes scanning the room quickly. He visibly relaxed when he saw Sam and Bucky. The quickness of his movements had startled Bucky, though, and Bucky had jumped backward against the wall again. He pressed his back against it, watching Steve warily.

Steve raised his hands slowly. “Shit. Sorry, Buck, I just… I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Sam was still calmly eating his apple. “Bucky let me in. I’m glad you got some sleep, though.”

Steve gave him a look as he walked over to the kitchen, still warily keeping his eyes on Bucky.

Bucky slowly relaxed as Sam and Steve moved around the kitchen. After a few minutes, he moved silently back to his chair in the corner.

“I need to talk to you about this,” Sam said quietly to Steve. Bucky watched Steve glance at him.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Sam, it’s-“

“Steve.”

Steve sighed. “Okay, okay.” Bucky watched him shoot another look at Bucky. “Somewhere else.”

Sam spoke up, looking at Bucky. “Hey, man, do you mind if me and Steve go downstairs for a minute? We’ll be just outside the front door of the building.”

Steve looked alarmed. “Sam, I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky said quickly.

“You’ll stay here?” Steve asked, frowning.

“Yes.”

“We’ll only be a few minutes. Steve, he’s fine. He survived a hell of a long time on his own, I think he can make it a few minutes without you.”

Sam held the front door open for Steve, looking at his expectantly. Steve still looked worried, but he followed Sam.

Bucky waited until the door had shut and their footsteps had faded down the hallway. Then, moving as quickly as he could, he ran into the kitchen. He grabbed a handful of forks and spoons from the utensils drawer, careful not to take more than would be noticeable. He grabbed a metal serving spoon, and two glasses from the cupboard. He quickly shoved those into the wardrobe in his room, and ran back to the living room. He flipped over the couch cushions, opened drawers, searched the pockets of Steve’s jackets.

He’d just finished searching the washroom when he heard Sam and Steve walking back down the hall. By the time Steve opened the door, Bucky was sitting in his chair again, staring out the window. He was a little annoyed that he hadn’t found any of the knives, or razors, or anything else he could use as a proper weapon. Steve had either hidden all of them in his room, or he’d gotten rid of them entirely.

“Hey, Bucky?”

Bucky turned to look at Sam.

“I’m gonna go now, but I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Steve and I usually go running in the morning, and you can come with us if you want.”

“Only if you want to,” Steve interjected. “You don’t have to.”

Bucky did actually want to go running, but he still really didn’t feel well. And, if Steve left the apartment go run, Bucky would have plenty of time to search his room.

When Bucky didn’t respond, Sam simply shrugged and said “no rush.”

Sam and Steve said goodbye, and Sam waved to Bucky. Bucky didn’t wave back.

With Sam gone, the apartment was quiet again. Bucky liked it.

The rest of the day passed in much the same way as the first. Steve made lunch, and dinner, and Bucky ate his portion each time. Steve spent a lot of time sitting on the couch with his textbooks and notebook. Occasionally he’d pull out his tablet and look something up, and then add that to his notebook. Bucky watched the people on the street below.

Bucky thought Steve might have tried to talk to him several times, but each time the pain in his head had been too bad and he hadn’t heard what Steve had said.

Finally, sometime after the street had fallen into darkness again, Steve stood up.

“I’m going to try and get some sleep,” he said.

“Okay,” Bucky responded. Steve looked surprised at his response. This confirmed that Steve had definitely been trying to talk to Bucky all day.

“If you need anything, just wake me up. I don’t mind.”

“Okay,” Bucky said again.

Steve looked like he wanted to say something else, but hesitated. Finally, he awkwardly said “goodnight,” and disappeared into his room. Bucky sat back in his chair and listened as Steve moved around his room. He could hear Steve breathing, and he waited for Steve’s breathing to slow. It took over three hours for Steve to fall asleep, and by that time Bucky was struggling to keep his own eyes open.

Once he was sure that Steve was well and truly asleep, Bucky walked around the apartment turning all the lights off. The darkness immediately made his head feel a little better.

He searched the entirety of the apartment, with the exception of Steve’s room, and found no bugs or microphones or cameras of any kind. He checked the locks on the windows and doors. Some of them were too flimsy, and Bucky jammed pieces of furniture against them to make them more solid. Once that was done, Bucky retreated to his room and quietly shut the door. He didn’t bother to turn on the lights. He pulled the items he’d stolen from the kitchen out of the wardrobe, and set them all out carefully on the bed.

The spoons and forks were easy. He twisted them into more-knife like shapes easily with his left hand. He did the same to the serving spoons. He shattered the glasses with his hand as quietly as he could, and then paused to listen to Steve’s breathing to make sure he hadn’t stirred. He gathered up his new knives and pieces of glass, and then walked around the apartment again. He hid a few of them in each room, where he’d be able to get to them quickly if he had too. The remaining forks he shoved into the waistband of his sweatpants.

With these tasks done, Bucky returned to his chair. He looked out the window and listened to the sound of Steve breathing. It was comfortable. Familiar. The chair was very comfy, and the street outside was peaceful. His headache was even dimming.

_He was strapped down, so tightly that he couldn’t move a muscle. They’d left his head free, though, and he was able to look at what they were doing. Men in lab coats were bent over his left arm, or what was left of it. They’d already sliced off most of what was left, which Bucky had thankfully passed out for most of. But now they wanted him awake, and so they’d injected him with something that made his heart pound and his muscles twitch. The drug was nothing in comparison to what they were doing now, though. They were repeatedly laying electrodes over what was left of his arm, and then watching him carefully. They’d send the shocks without warning him, and they were so painful that his body would flinch against the straps holding him down and his vision would grey. He wanted to pass out, but they got angrier each time he did. He’d scream if he could, but he’d ripped his throats to shreds with the screaming long ago. Apparently his reaction was the one they wanted, though, because they would look at each other and babble happily in whatever language they were speaking. Then they’d move the electrodes around a little bit, shock him again, and then write down his reaction to it._

_He was standing outside of a house. It was winter, and his bones were shaking with the cold, but he ignored it. The heat from the fire was keeping him warm. He watched the flames leaping from the windows of the house impassively. He listened to the screams from inside. He turned his head as glass shattered around the other side of the house. He walked around the perimeter of the house until he saw the man struggling off the ground, underneath the window that he must have jumped from. The man looked up as Bucky stepped closer to him, and his face twisted. He was begging, and crying, but it meant nothing to Bucky. Bucky kicked him in the head, and the man fell quietly back onto the ground. He lifted him easily, and pushed the man back into the house. He stepped back again to watch quietly._

_He was walking down a hallway. Some of the doors were decorated with drawings, and had names written on them in bright letters. He stopped before one of the doors, and made sure his grip on the gun in his hand was solid. Then, he opened the door and stepped into the dark room. In the dark, he saw-_

Bucky ripped himself from his dreams. He fell out of his chair and onto the floor, gasping for breath silently. He scrambled backward so that his back was pressed into the corner, his vision still filled with the images that ripped through his brain every time he slept. He’d long ago learned never, ever to scream when he woke up from a nightmare, and so he pressed his arm over his mouth and screamed silently into the soft fabric of his shirt. He couldn’t catch his breath, and every time he tried to breath in it felt like someone was strangling him. His body was covered in sweat, and his heartbeat was roaring in his ears so loudly that he couldn’t hear.

With his left arm, he grabbed one of the makeshift knives from his waist and dug it into his right arm. He determinedly dragged it down, the pain flashing in his vision and pulling him out of the nightmares.

The knife was suddenly ripped from his grasp, and Bucky immediately swung his left arm forward. It would have cracked across Steve’s jaw, but Steve had gotten his arm up in time. Bucky snarled and leapt forward, but he was confused and disorientated. Steve knocked him to the floor easily.

“Bucky, Bucky, you’re safe, you’re in my apartment,” Steve gasped as he struggled to hold Bucky down. “I think you were asleep, you were having a nightmare, you’re safe, I promise.”

“Steve?” Bucky asked, now trying to scramble backwards into the corner again. Steve cautiously let him go, and Bucky sank back against the wall, still struggling to take a breath.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Steve said softly, his eyes focused on the blood now sluggishly running down Bucky’s arm. “Jesus Christ, Buck.”

He reached towards Bucky’s arm, but Bucky pushed himself back further into the corner. He glanced out the window, and noticed that it was still dark outside.

“I woke you up,” Bucky said slowly. “I woke you up.” His eyes widened, and he shrunk further into the corner. “I woke you up, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry-“

“Bucky, it’s okay!” Steve looked frantic. “I don’t mind, I don’t need much sleep anyway.”

Bucky didn’t say anything else, but he also didn’t let Steve get close to his injured arm. Steve didn’t try to touch him again, and instead just knelt in front of him for a few minutes. When he seemed sure that Bucky wasn’t immediately going to hurt himself again, he slowly got to his feet.

Bucky winced as Steve turned the lights on, but he felt his heart rate starting to slow down, so he didn’t protest. He watched as Steve moved quickly around the kitchen. Steve came back with a glass of water, which he carefully placed on the floor in front of Bucky.

“This is for you. It’ll help.”

Bucky looked at him warily, but reached out and grabbed the glass. He drank the water more slowly than he usually did, because he had to struggle for breath between each sip.

Steve was still sitting on the floor in front of him when Bucky finished his water. He had his phone out, and was texting someone. Whoever it was must have gotten the text immediately, because Steve’s phone rang the second Steve put his phone back in his pocket. Bucky flinched at the noise, and Steve immediately blocked the call.

Steve was still staring at Bucky’s arm, his face horrified. Bucky followed his gaze. He didn’t really see why Steve was so upset. It had already stopped bleeding.

“It’ll heal,” Bucky said.

Steve looked up at his voice. “Yeah, but…” he trailed off.

The two of them sat on the floor for a few minutes longer, staring at each other. Bucky still shook, and he still couldn’t get his breathing back to normal.

Finally, Steve stood up. “Do you want to come outside? Just to the balcony?”

“You have a balcony?”

Bucky’s voice sounded more normal as he said that, to an extent that almost surprised him. It seemed to catch Steve off guard too, but he smiled weakly and nodded. “Yeah. Off my room.”

Steve offered Bucky his hand, but Bucky pushed himself up off the floor with his left arm. He cradled his right one to his body and he followed Steve through the apartment. Sure enough, Steve’s room had large sliding doors that led to a wide balcony that overlooked the street below.

Bucky gratefully took a deep breath of the fresh air. The sweat cooled on his skin, and he felt his trembling start to slow.

Steve leaned on the railing, still watching Bucky carefully. They stood in silence for a few minutes, until Bucky’s heart rate returned to normal and he could catch his breath again.

Bucky frowned as he noticed that Steve was holding the knife Bucky had made. He was turning it over in his hands, studying it.

“How did you make this?” Steve asked softly, still looking at the blade.

Bucky didn’t say anything.

“Did this used to be a spoon?” Steve asked, frowning slightly.

For some reason, that sentence, and the way Steve had said it, struck Bucky as absurdly funny. He smiled, and Steve’s eyes visibly widened at that.

“Yeah. Sorry,” Bucky said quietly.

Steve shook his head. “I didn’t think about the spoons,” he muttered, more to himself than to Bucky. Bucky didn’t say anything.


	8. He carries the reminders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "The Fighter", by The Fray
> 
> This chapter has some drug use/abuse. Just painkillers, nothing stronger than that, but if that makes you uncomfortable you might want to be wary of this.

They spent the next four days like that. Steve would sleep for five hours every night, and then he would join Bucky in the living room. He’d sit quietly, doing whatever it was he was doing with those books. Bucky wanted to ask, but every time he tried, the pain in his head distracted him again.

 Bucky wouldn’t sleep, and spent most of his time sitting in that chair by the window. Sometimes he’d sit on the floor when his muscles started to ache. Steve tried to turn on the tv occasionally, but he’d always turn it off when he’d notice Bucky start to shift uncomfortably. The sound of the tv hurt his head sometimes, especially if the channel Steve was watching was particularly loud.

Sam would come by every day. Steve had apparently backed out of running with him for the time being, but Sam would still drop by with groceries, or pizza, or more books for Steve. He and Steve would talk quietly for a while, and then Sam would try and talk to Bucky. Bucky usually just stared at him, and then went back to looking out the window, but Sam didn’t seem to mind. He’d keep talking, even if Bucky didn’t respond.

On the fifth day, Bucky had started twitching whenever Steve made any noise at all (which he was clearly trying not to do). He wanted to reply when Steve tried to talk to him, or ask him things, but every word Steve said hurt his head. It was all he could do not to scream every time Steve asked him a question, and so he stayed silent. He dutifully ate the food that Steve brought for him, even if sometimes he couldn’t finish it all. Steve didn’t seem to mind if he didn’t eat everything on his plate, and so he figured he could keep doing it.

Bucky’s muscles ached, and he found himself constantly stretching. And so, when Steve went to sleep that night, Bucky waited for 47 minutes until Steve was deeply asleep. Then, he grabbed one of the hoodies that Steve had lent him and slipped his shoes on. The hoodie was big enough that it hid his arm and most of his hands, and he could pull it almost all the way down over his face.

He slipped soundlessly into Steve’s room. Steve always slept with his door open, which seemed ridiculous to Bucky. It was much easier to sneak into a room with an open door. It wasn’t safe. Which is why Bucky paused as he moved past Steve’s bed, slid back, and quietly pulled the door shut. Steve flinched a little in his sleep at the soft click of the door, but Bucky remained unmoving until Steve’s breathing evened out again. Steve’s shield was next to his bed, but it wasn’t in the most optimal place if Steve needed it. So Bucky quietly picked it up and placed it closer to Steve’s bed, so that he’d be able to get to it quickly if needed it. Finally, Bucky quietly unlocked the sliding balcony door and moved out onto the balcony. He couldn’t lock it behind him, and so he grabbed one of the chairs sitting on the balcony and ripped it apart as quietly as he could. It was made of some weird woven stuff, and Bucky successfully used it to wedge the door shut. Steve would still be able to get out if he needed too, he was strong enough, but the average person wouldn’t be able to get in.

With that done, Bucky swung himself over the balcony and dropped down to the ground. Steve lived on the sixth floor, which wasn’t high at all. Bucky easily caught himself on two balconies on his way down with his left arm, and then dropped to the ground. He glanced around to make sure no one had noticed him, but the street was quiet at this time of night.

Bucky made his way through the streets more slowly than he would have liked. He was feeling better now that he’d been eating proper food for a few days, and the pain in his knee and ribs had gotten a lot better after he’d been sitting for days. The cool night air felt good on his face, and his muscles felt better the further he walked. But still, every loud sound on the street sent him slamming back against the nearest building, sliding his makeshift weapons into his hands. Each time, it took him a few minutes to get his heart rate back to normal, and the deep breathing he forced himself to do made his head spin. There were still people hurrying about at this time of night, and Bucky had to go out of his way to avoid them.

Eventually, Bucky found what he was looking for. He slipped into the store as quietly as he could. There were still a few people shopping, but they ignored him as they went about their errands. The sole cashier didn’t even look up as he came in.

Bucky didn’t bother to pull out the money he’d stolen from Steve’s apartment (he always kept it in an empty soup can in the cupboard, always had). He scanned the racks of painkillers eagerly, and easily slid as many into his pockets and his hoodie as he could carry. He didn’t even bother to be subtle about it, as the cameras in this little store clearly were just for show.

With that done, he moved on to the next thing he had to do. He found a small general store just around the corner, which surprised him a little. He didn’t think they still had those. He easily found a set of 8 kitchen knives, which were small and flimsy compared to the ones that he was used to. They were still better than the ones he’d been forced to make, though.

This time he paid for his purchase, because this store had a complicated security system that Bucky couldn’t be bothered to try and bypass. He kept his hoodie pulled over his head and kept his face away from the cameras, making sure to keep his left hand in his pocket at all times. He didn’t say a word to the cashier, a young girl who looked too tired to be up at this time of night. He tossed the knife set onto the counter and shoved the money towards her. She tiredly told him to “have a nice evening” after she rang up his purchase, but he had already moved back outside.

As he walked back to Steve’s apartment, he pulled the packaging on the knives apart and tossed it into a dumpster as he walked by. He slid the knives into his clothes, already feeling better.

He easily scaled the building back up to Steve’s balcony, jumping silently from one balcony to the next. It took him a bit longer to get the pieces of furniture unjammed from where he’d shoved them into the door. He quickly realized that there was no way that he was going to be able to put the chair back together, so he just left it on a pile on the balcony and slid back inside.

Steve was still asleep, and he didn’t stir as Bucky moved through his room. He was curled up under his blankets, frowning even in his sleep. Bucky moved Steve’s shield back to where it had been, and opened his door back to where Steve had left it. Obviously Steve would know that Bucky had been in his room when he saw the chair, but Bucky didn’t want to try and explain why he’d needed to make Steve safer in his absence.

Bucky didn’t bother to turn the lights on in the living room and kitchen. He pushed the hood of his hoodie off his head, and got himself a glass of water. He pulled one of the painkiller bottles out of his pocket, and tipped a good half of the pills into his hands. He wasn’t sure about the exact strength of these particular painkillers, but this would be better than nothing. His body could handle a hell of a lot more than this, but he’d see how this worked and then go from there.

He took his handful of pills, and put the lid back on the bottle. He put his glass of water in the dishwasher, and then went over to the couch. He lay down on the floor and pulled all the painkiller bottles out of his hoodie, as well as some of the knives. When he’d searched Steve’s apartment the other day, he’d noticed that the couch had a ledge hidden under the slats that held up the cushions. He left most of the painkillers and some of the knives there, and kept the others hidden in his clothes. With that finished, he returned to the chair on the corner.

He let himself slump back against the cushions as, a few minutes later, the painkillers started to kick in. He felt his entire body start to relax as the pain started to gradually recede from his head. The headache didn’t go away completely, but the constant pain that Bucky had grown to live with had faded. He took a deep breath and watched as the skies started to lighten, idly taking the occasional pill from the bottle he still hid in his pocket.


	9. If I don't see the day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Broken Crown", by Mumford and Sons.

                                                                                                  STEVE

When Steve woke up, the first thing he noticed was that one of the chairs on his balcony was torn to pieces. He immediately jumped to his feet and reached for his shield, before his brain caught up to him and he realized that if someone was going to attack him, they probably wouldn’t waste time ripping apart his chair first.

He put down his shield and went outside, grabbing a few pieces of what used to be his chair (he’d liked that chair, actually. It was comfortable).

“Bucky?” he asked, walking down the hall to the living room. Bucky looked up from that chair in the corner where he liked to sit. His eyes fell on the pieces of furniture that Steve was holding, and Steve could have sworn that Bucky’s mouth quirked into a small smile for a moment.

“Did you, uh, did you do this?” Steve asked helplessly. He thought Bucky still looked a little amused.

“Yeah. Sorry,” Bucky said quietly, like he always did. He looked calmer today, though. More comfortable, and less like a wild animal that someone trapped in a cage.

“Uh,” Steve tried again. “Why?” He didn’t really expect him to answer, because Bucky almost never answered direct questions. Or any questions, really.

“I used it to lock the door properly,” Bucky responded as Steve stared at him.

“Oh,” Steve said slowly. “Uh, okay. We can get better security on the doors, if you want?” He wanted to ask why Bucky had felt the need to lock his balcony door with pieces of patio furniture, but he didn’t want to press too hard.

“Okay,” Bucky said, and then turned to look out the window again. Steve stared at him for another moment, trying not to smile. Hearing Bucky’s voice in a normal conversation was more than he’d ever dreamed of, more than he’d even dared to dream of. Even if it was a short conversation about a weird topic, Steve would take it.

The calm didn’t last long.

By the time Steve had showered, cleaned up the apartment, and started lunch, his phone had started beeping him again. The amount of texts he got a day was a little excessive. Between Sam asking when he could drop by, Natasha asking how Bucky was doing, Clint asking if he needed help with anything, Tony asking when he’d be back at the tower, and everyone else Steve knew, it was getting to be too much. It wasn’t that Steve didn’t appreciate their concern, he did. He appreciated it a lot. He couldn’t thank Sam enough for what he was doing. Steve hadn’t even mentioned that he was worried about leaving Bucky alone in the apartment for more than a few minutes at a time, but Sam had started showing up with fresh groceries every day so Steve didn’t need to leave the house. It had taken him three days to even accept the money Steve insisted on giving him to pay for the groceries.

As for everyone else, Steve knew they were just concerned about him. He wanted to go back to the tower, actually. He liked it there. It felt safe, and he liked having people around again. He hated living alone. But there was no way that he would put them in more danger than they already lived in constantly. He didn’t doubt their ability to take care of themselves, but even having Bucky there was a risk. They were putting their lives in danger every time they entered a room with him in it, especially because Steve had yet to figure out what particular things would set Bucky off. There seemed, at least to Steve, there seemed to be no obvious reason for it. He knew they wanted to help with Bucky, but he wasn’t their responsibility and it wasn’t fair to put that burden on them. Not to mention whatever had attacked the tower that one day had probably been after Bucky. The Avengers had enough threats at any given time. They didn’t need the added risk of having Bucky there as well. And so he sent them all a short text every day, assuring them he was still alive. He’d even learned how to copy and paste the same message into every text so he didn’t need to keep typing it out.

Steve was making pasta for lunch as he texted Natasha, and he’d set the timer on the stove to go off 10 minutes later. He was rifling through the fridge looking for something to add to the pasta when the timer went off. Steve ignored it while he tried to pull the parmesan cheese out from the back of the fridge.

The loud crunching noise from the direction of stove made Steve jump backward, slamming the fridge doors shut.

Bucky was standing with part of the stove in his left hand, wires dangling from pieces of twisted metal clutched in his hand. The stove’s beeping had stopped, mainly because the top part of the stove was now in pieces.

“Bucky?” Steve said slowly.

Bucky didn’t look at him. He was still staring at his hand. He slowly clenched his hand tighter, so hard that his arm started to make worrying grinding noises.

Steve didn’t move. “Bucky, it’s okay.”

It took a few minutes before Bucky looked at him. He glanced at Steve, and then back down at his hand. He quickly dropped the ruined pieces of metal onto the floor and backed away until his back thumped against the counter.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“It’s all right,” Steve said quickly. He grabbed the pot of pasta and set it in the sink, and then carefully pulled the stove away from the wall so he could unplug it.

That was usually how it happened. Something small and seemingly unimportant (at least to Steve) would happen, and Bucky would panic and usually break something. Once, a car alarm went off on the street, and Bucky locked himself in the washroom for three hours. Another time, Sam dropped by while Bucky was in the shower, and when Bucky walked out and saw him standing there, he immediately threw a knife straight at Sam’s head. Steve shoved Sam out of the way in time and the knife imbedded harmlessly into the wall, but it still took the two of them four hours to coax Bucky out of his room again.

Steve started to suspect that Bucky was leaving while he slept, and coming back before Steve woke up. It was the little things that tipped him off, like how Bucky’s shoes looked significantly dirtier than should have been, for someone who only walked from one room of the apartment to another. Some of his clothes had strange rips in them, and one morning Steve had noticed a dark bruise down the side of Bucky’s head. When he’d asked him about it, Bucky had simply ignored him and continued eating the lunch Steve had made for him.

The days continued much like that. Bucky still refused to sleep, although Steve would catch him nodding off at random times of the day. One time he fell asleep at the dinner table, and Steve had to carefully get the fork out of his hand before he woke up. Sure enough, Bucky snapped awake again a few minutes later and lashed out with whatever he could grab, which happened to be his glass filled with water. Steve dodged it easily enough, but pieces of glass ended up embedded so tightly into the wall that it took Steve an hour to get them all out.

Steve was tired of spending all day, every day, in his apartment with someone who rarely spoke and rarely even looked at him. Not that he minded doing it, of course. Some days he would sit and spend hours just staring at Bucky, even though he knew it was a creepy thing to do. Bucky didn’t seem to care. Most of the time he was staring into space himself, his eyes vacant. That was happening more frequently now, and it worried Steve.

In an attempt to shake Bucky out of his stupor, Steve started carefully asking if Bucky would help him with some chores. He was cautious of ordering Bucky to do something. He’d done that once, when he’d carelessly told him to turn the stove down because the soup was boiling over. Bucky had done as requested, but it was what he’d done next that had chilled Steve to the bone. Once he’d turned the stove down, he’d turned to look at Steve and then just stood there. His face was blank and his eyes were cold. He’d been in a good mood (a good mood for him, at least), a few minutes before. He’d seemed to be listening to whatever silly thing Steve was talking about, and he’d even responded to a few of his comments. Now he just stood, quietly, and watched. It had taken him a day and a half before he appeared to start moving out of that mindset again, and was back to his normal surly silence.

He didn’t seem to mind helping with chores though. Steve would usually start doing something like cleaning up the kitchen, and then casually ask Bucky if could would mind helping him out. Bucky seemed relieved to have something to do.

Steve still didn’t know how to address Bucky leaving at night. It was curiosity, more than anything, that made Steve wonder about it. Bucky didn’t seem to be causing any trouble or doing anything drastic. In the mornings he seemed calm, and the minor injuries he got seemed to more from running into something or falling, as opposed to getting into a fight.

Steve set the alarm on his watch for 3am. Sure enough, when he woke up at 3, Bucky was nowhere to be found in the apartment. Steve did notice, though, that his door was now shut and his shield had been moved closer to him. His balcony door was also wedged shut with the patio furniture.

Steve didn’t bother trying to track Bucky down. He knew there’d be no use in trying to find him, if Bucky didn’t want to be found. He’d already learned that lesson. So he just waited.

Sure enough, an hour later, he heard a scuffling noise from below his balcony. A moment later, Bucky climbed easily over the edge and dropped silently down onto the balcony. He easily pried apart the furniture he’d shoved against the door and opened it. He froze when he saw Steve sitting on the edge of his bed, watching him.

“Hey,” Steve said.

Bucky didn’t say anything, just watched him warily. His hood was pulled low over his face, and his body was tense under his clothes.

“It’s all right,” Steve said.

Bucky hastily moved past him and disappeared into his room, the door shutting firmly behind him. Steve sat there for a moment later, looking at the closed door into Bucky’s room. Bucky had had something stuffed into his pockets, and Steve hadn’t been able to figure out what it was. He’d need money to buy things though, unless he was just stealing.

Frowning at that thought, Steve went into the kitchen and grabbed the soup can that he kept his spare cash hidden in. He pried it open, and sighed. It was completely empty.

He rested his head against the cupboard for a moment. He didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know how to deal with this.

Steve went to Bucky’s room and knocked on the door. When there was no reply, he knocked again.

“Can I come in?” he asked through the door. When there was still no reply, he hesitantly pushed it open. Bucky was sitting cross legged on the bed. He had a bunch of playing cards spread out on the bed in front of him, but it didn’t look like solitaire of any game that Steve knew. It didn’t look like any game, really. Steve couldn’t see any rhyme nor reason to it.

Bucky looked up as he came in, but then he looked back down at the bed. He was frowning slightly.

“If you need money, you can just ask,” Steve said softly. When Bucky didn’t reply, he tried again.

“Have you been stealing things?” he asked quietly. Bucky looked up sharply

“No.”

Steve gave him a look. “Well, all my spare money is gone.”

Bucky was still looking down at the bed, with his hair mostly obscuring his face, but Steve was pretty sure that he rolled his eyes. “Yeah well, that’s a dumb place to keep it.”

Steve stared at him. “How did you even know it was there?”

“You always kept it there,” Bucky muttered. Steve tried to ignore the way his heart leapt at that. He knew better to ask how Bucky knew that, though. Whenever he tried, Bucky would usually throw something at him and not speak for the next two days.

Steve wanted to ask if he’d been stealing from anyone other than him, but Bucky’s shoulders had started to tense and he was rubbing at his head with his hand. That usually meant that he was getting annoyed. He took a step backward towards the door, and leaned as casually as he could against the dresser. “What are you doing?”

Bucky had been moving a few cards around on the bed, but he looked up when Steve spoke.

“It’s a game.”

Steve stared at the piles of cards. “What’s it called?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said. His voice was tense, but he hadn’t snarled it like he did when he was mad.

“How do you play?” Steve pressed.

Bucky seemed to take a second to think about how to respond, but finally he sighed and pointed at one pile of cards. “Okay, this one, see, this is the main pile.”

Bucky went on to explain the game to Steve. Steve cautiously sat down on the other side of the bed while Bucky talked. It was a complicated game, but Steve picked it up quickly. Within a few minutes they were playing, with Bucky occasionally correcting Steve.

Steve tried to stay as calm as he could, but this was the longest he’d heard Bucky speak at one time. It was also the first time that Bucky was willingly interacting with Steve in a way that didn’t involve violence.

They played three rounds before Bucky got frustrated. When Bucky lost one of the rounds, he tossed a handful of his cards at Steve, and then froze. He stared at Steve, his eyes wide.

Steve laughed, and put his hands in the air. “Okay, I get the point,” he said as he stood up. He went back into the kitchen and started making breakfast, seeing as it was now early in the morning and no longer night. Bucky followed him after a few minutes, watching him carefully from across the kitchen. He ate the omelet that Steve made him, and returned to the chair by the window after he helped Steve wash the dishes. He resumed his staring at the street below, but Steve thought he looked a little calmer than he normally did.

After that, they played cards every day. Some days, they even played for hours. Steve could tell when Bucky was getting tired or irritated or frustrated, and he’d usually go make some food when he noticed that as a reason to get away. Bucky would clean up the cards and then help Steve with the cooking. He still barely spoke, but one day he actually grinned when he beat Steve in a particularly competitive game.

Steve hesitantly offered to teach him how to play other card games, and Bucky actually accepted. Steve taught him some new ones that he’d learned recently, and snuck in some that he and Bucky had been playing since they were little kids. He didn’t point out to Bucky which were which, but the ones that he and Bucky had already spent hours of their lives playing, Bucky learned much more quickly. Those games came easily to him, and he seemed to take a particular delight in beating Steve at them.

Steve really, honestly, thought that they were making some sort of progress.

Until one morning, he got up, showered, and got dressed. He walked out to the living room, and saw that Bucky was asleep in his chair. Steve watched him for a moment, pleased that Bucky was finally getting some actual deep sleep.

It wasn’t until Steve had walked into the kitchen and started to make breakfast that he realized something was wrong.

 Since Bucky had been here, he’d gotten used to hearing the constant sound of his breathing. It was usually ragged and unpredictable. For reasons that Steve couldn’t figure out, Bucky’s breathing would spike without warning and he would suddenly be gasping for air. Bucky would immediately start forcing himself to breathe deeply and slowly, and he wouldn’t even look at Steve while he did so. A few minutes later, his breathing would be back to normal.

But now, there was nothing.


	10. But I'm broken too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "What He Wrote", by Laura Marling. 
> 
> More stuff about drug abuse, drug addiction, and drug overdose here. Please be careful if you're uncomfortable with that!

Steve dropped the glass of water he was holding. By the time it hit the sink and shattered, Steve was already halfway across the living room.

He grabbed Bucky’s shoulders and forced him upright. He frantically pushed Bucky’s head back and felt for his pulse with another. Steve let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he found it. Bucky’s pulse was slow and weak, but his heart was beating. He was breathing, too, but so shallowly that even Steve could barely hear it.

“Bucky, Bucky, wake up,” he said frantically. Using one arm to keep Bucky upright, Steve pulled his phone out of his pocket and called the first number that came to mind. He checked Bucky’s pulse again as it rang.

“Hey, Steve,” Sam said as he answered. “I’m at that little coffee place-“

“Sam, you have to get here now, right now,” Steve nearly shouted. “You need to hurry, I don’t know what to do-“

“What happened? What’s going on? Are you okay?” Sam asked. Steve heard noise in the background that sounded like Sam had literally dropped whatever he was doing and started running.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s Bucky, there’s something wrong, he won’t wake up-“ Steve was frantically tapping the side of Bucky’s face, but Bucky simply slumped down further onto Steve’s shoulder.

“Did something happen to him?”

“No, I don’t think so, I walked in and he was like this-“

“Is he breathing?”

“Barely, but I can barely hear it, Sam, I don’t know what to do”

“Steve, I’m on my way, but you have to call an ambulance.”

“No,” Steve shouted frantically into the phone. “No one can know what he’s here, Sam! Besides, they won’t have any idea what to do with him, he’s not exactly an average human!”

“I know, Steve, but-“

“Just hurry, please,” Steve said. He dropped his phone onto the floor, and pulled Bucky onto the floor next to it. Bucky slumped against him, still completely unresponsive to anything.

Bucky’s face was an awful grey colour, and the stillness in him now was disturbing. Steve was so used to seeing him tense and angry.

“Come on, Buck,” he whispered. “Don’t do this to me.”

The apartment door burst open, and Sam rushed in. He looked winded, like he’d sprinted from wherever he was.

Steve looked at him, eyes wide. “I don’t know what do.”

Sam knelt beside them, frowning. “Help me sit him up.”

The two of them pushed Bucky into a sitting position, with his back against the wall. Sam checked Bucky’s pulse, while Steve tried to hold Bucky up. He’d never realized how heavy his metal arm was, and it quickly flashed through Steve’s mind how hard it must be for Bucky’s body to compensate for the weight.

“Did you check his pockets?” Sam asked?

“What? No,” Steve said.

Sam was already rifling through the pockets of Bucky’s hoodie. “Check around here, his room, anything.”

Steve didn’t even have time to move, though, before Sam pulled a handful of small pill bottles out of Bucky’s pockets.

“What are these?” Sam asked, already quickly reading through the labels.

“I don’t know,” Steve said. “I’ve never seen them before, I don’t even have medications, they don’t work on me.” He was babbling, he knew. But his head was so filled with fear that his arms were even starting to feel weak.

Sam was opening each one and checking the inside, and then tossing them to the side. “Steve, please let me call an ambulance. I’m not a doctor, neither are you.”

“No,” Steve repeated.

Sam had found a total of four bottles in Bucky’s pockets alone, and they were all empty. They were all over-the-counter painkillers.

“Those probably wouldn’t even work on him,” Steve said frantically. “Those barely work for normal people, and-“

“If he took all of these at once?” Sam asked, staring at him doubtfully. “These are strong, Steve. They aren’t morphine but they’re still pretty fucking strong.”

Bucky’s breath hitched suddenly, and both Sam and Steve glanced at him frantically. But his breathing slowed again immediately, and he slumped back onto Steve’s shoulder.

“He’s cold, Sam, he’s really cold,” Steve said.

“Steve, I think he took a bunch of these, and I think he took them at once. Even with that resistance to meds that you have, this would still be an overdose. I bet this would hurt even you, let alone him.”

Steve pushed the hair out of Bucky’s face miserably. “I… what do we do?”

“Aside from calling an ambulance?”

“Yes,” Steve said shortly. “I can’t, Sam, do you know how many people are looking for him right now? How many people want to hurt him? We take him to the hospital and everyone is going to fucking know where he is, where we are, where-“

“Okay, okay,” Sam said. “But Steve, I’m not a doctor, I’m not an expert at this…”

“You’re calmer than I am,” Steve said, still looking worriedly at Bucky’s grey face and silently counting his breaths.

He heard Sam sigh, and get up. Sam grabbed a few of the blankets that were thrown carelessly over the couch and brought them back over to Steve.

“Here, help me get this around his shoulders.”

Between the two of them, they managed to get a few blankets wrapped around Bucky. By now, he’d started to tremble a little but still hadn’t woken up.

“How long does it take for medication to wear off for you?” Sam asked.

Steve shrugged. “It depends. Usually it doesn’t have any effect at all. If it’s really strong, a few minutes maybe? A little less?”

Sam frowned. “Okay, well, hopefully he’ll be able to burn through this pretty quickly, too. And you don’t know where he got all this from?”

“He’s been sneaking out at night,” Steve said miserably. “But I only just figured that out, and he never said what he was doing.”

“Well, I’m guessing he – oh, shit-“ Whatever Sam had been about to say was interrupted by Bucky suddenly gagging, his whole body convulsing. “You have to hold him up, Steve, make sure his throat is clear.”

Steve and Sam struggled to keep Bucky upright as he threw up. When he was done, he was breathing more strongly, but also shaking more. He still hadn’t opened his eyes.

Sam left Steve to hold Bucky up, and disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes. He came back with a handful of damp washcloths, and the two of them went to work gently cleaning Bucky’s face up.

A few minutes after that, Bucky’s eyes slowly opened. He stared around him dully, his eyes struggling to focus. Finally, his gaze settled on Steve.

“Steve?” he mumbled hoarsely.

“Yeah, yeah it’s me,” Steve said quickly. Bucky was frowning now, blearily looking around the room and noticing Sam for the first time.

“What’s goin’ on?” Bucky slurred slowly, leaning heavily on Steve’s shoulder. Steve looked at Sam.

Sam held up the pile of pill bottles. “Bucky? How many of these did you take?”

Bucky stared at him, his eyes half closed. He was shaking badly now, and Steve tried to wrap the blankets more tightly around him while still keeping him upright.

“I dunno,” Bucky muttered.

“Uh, did you take all of these?” Sam asked him, holding out the bottles so he could see more clearly.

Bucky frowned at them. “No. More than that.”

“More than – jesus. Where are the others?” Sam asked, his face alarmed. Bucky pointed in the direction of the chair and then let his hand drop again. His eyes started to close again, but opened when Steve shook him roughly.

“Fucking hell,” Sam muttered, pulling more bottles out from the cushions on the chair. He brought another handful of them back over to Bucky and added them to the pile. “Are these all of them?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at the pile, and then nodded. “Think so.”

Sam was shaking his head. Steve leaned his head back against the wall.

“Why, Buck?” Steve asked finally. He tried to make his voice sound calm, but it came out broken.

Bucky’s voice was muffled from where he’d slumped down into Steve’s shoulder. “My head hurt. Was tryin’ to make it stop.”

Steve closed his eyes, trying to keep his thoughts from spinning out of control. He heard Sam sigh quietly, and then stand up.

“Steve, we should get him into bed before he passes out again,” Sam said quietly. Steve forced his eyes open again and struggled to his feet. Bucky’s eyes were closing and fluttering open again, like he was trying to stay awake but couldn’t.

“Come on, Buck, you gotta get up,” Steve said, struggling to pull him up. Sam grabbed Bucky’s other side, and between the two of them, they got Bucky to his feet. Steve took Bucky’s left side, and again he was shocked at how heavy Bucky was. Bucky seemed to wake up a little as they dragged him towards his room. Once he got his feet steadied, Bucky immediately shifted most of his weight away from Steve.

They’d just gotten Bucky into his room when he collapsed again. Sam and Steve managed to get Bucky onto his bed, and Sam quickly went to work grabbing pillows and putting them behind Bucky’s back so that he wouldn’t roll over from his side. Steve carefully wrapped Bucky’s blankets around him as Sam went to grab a few glasses of water and juice.

Bucky was still shaking, but his breathing was much stronger and the colour was starting to return to his face. He was also out cold again.

Steve leaned against the wall, staring down at Bucky with his jaw clenched tightly. He knew Sam was watching him as he set the glasses of water on the nightstand next to Bucky.

“Steve,” Sam said gently. “We gotta look around. He’s probably got more stashed somewhere.”

Steve took a deep breath and went to work. He and Sam rifled through everything in Bucky’s room. There wasn’t all that much to look through, and all they found in there was a couple pieces of broken glass stashed under the bed. They moved onto the living room after that.

Sam was kneeling on the floor looking under the couch when Steve heard him swear.

“Steve, come look at this,” he said, his voice muffled. “Can you flip this over?”

Steve left the bookshelf he had been blankly searching through and went over to the couch. He flipped it over easily as Sam stood back. Both of them stared as Sam reached in and started pulling items out.

By the time they’d finished searching the entire apartment (with breaks so that Steve could check in on Bucky), there was a large pile of stuff sitting on the coffee table. Sam and Steve sat dejectedly on the couch, staring at it.

“How did he even get half of this?” Sam asked, picking up one of the knives and examining it.

There were knives, of all different kinds of and qualities. Various bottles of painkillers, some prescription (clearly stolen) and some over-the-counter. Other bottles of medications with labels that Steve didn’t understand. There were a couple guns, one of which looked brand new and others that looked well-used. A few long, sharp pieces of glass.

Steve let his head fall into his hands.

“I took all of the knives out of here,” he muttered. “I hid anything sharp, anything that I thought could possibly be used as a weapon. And he took the fucking spoons, Sam, and the forks. He made them into knives. And I’m pretty sure he broke a few glasses and used the glass from that too. Now it looks like he’s been stealing weapons from somewhere, and doing god-knows-what with them, and I didn’t even know he was leaving at night until a few days ago.”

“I don’t think he was doing anything with these,” Sam said calmly. “I think he probably just feels safer with them nearby.”

“I can’t keep him safe here,” Steve said frantically. “The fucking painkillers? I didn’t even know he was taking them! I didn’t even know that he was in that much pain! He needs actual doctors, who actually know what the fuck they’re doing, and people to help him who actually know what to do, because I don’t. I can’t keep him safe here, I never have been able to-“

“Steve, Steve,” Sam hurriedly cut him off. “You’re doing all you can. Everyone knows that.”

Steve laughed shortly. “Yeah, a lot of good that’s doing.”

Sam hesitated. “What if you guys go back to the tower? They have doctors there, don’t they? And-“

“He almost strangled Clint the last time we were there!” Steve said. “All Clint did was get in my way, and then Bucky had his arm around his throat and Natasha had her knife on Bucky! That was the first time I let him out of that cell they call a room, by the way.”

“Steve, I’m just… I’m just trying to help,” Sam said. Steve raised his head from his hands. Sam was looking at him. He looked tired, and stressed, and it crossed Steve’s mind that Sam had left whatever he was doing to come running over here. He also remembered that Sam had a job, which he should be at and wasn’t at because Steve had called him.

“I know, Sam, I know, I’m sorry”, Steve said softly. “This isn’t your fault, or your responsibility. I’m sorry for taking this out on you.”

Sam gave Steve a look. “Steve, I’m not angry at you. I just don’t know how to help. I don’t know what the answer is here. I think the best solution is to take him back to the tower with you. They’re your friends, they want to help.”

Steve shook his head. “They shouldn’t. They all have enough to deal with on their own, they don’t need all of this too.”

Sam looked like he wanted to say more, but Bucky started to cough.

After checking in on him and making sure he was all right, Steve walked back into the living room.

“Thank you for being here, Sam,” he said. “I’ll make it up to you. Somehow. I don’t know how yet, but I will. You’re probably really late for work now, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to make anything up to me,” Sam said as he went to grab his coat. He hesitated as he pulled it on. “Are you sure you’re all right here? I can stay.”

“No, no, its fine, I’ve got it,” Steve said with more confidence than he felt. “I just panicked earlier.”

Sam looked doubtful. “Okay, well, at least call Natasha. Get her to come by. She wants to see you, you know. They’re worried.”

“All right, all right, I’ll talk to her,” Steve promised. He wouldn’t talk to her.

Once Sam had gone, Steve wandered back into Bucky’s room. Bucky was still asleep, curled up under the blankets.

Steve sat down next to him, leaning his back against the wall. He watched the rise and fall of Bucky’s chest, counting his breaths again. He was tired. Drained. Wrung out.

Even though it was still morning, the temptation to lean his head back and fall asleep was strong. Steve ignored it, and went on with his counting. It didn’t matter how tired he was.

He idly wondered how many nights Bucky had spent sitting next to Steve like this. Watching his breathing. Making sure that the next breath was strong enough. Steve knew it was a lot, because he had a lot of memories of waking up completely disorientated, with no idea what day or time it was. Each memory had a different illness associated with it, but there was one constant in all of them. Bucky was always sitting next to him, his eyes have closed and his face tired.


	11. Not because I want to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Flawed Design", by Stabilo.

Steve didn’t sleep much after that. Bucky recovered quickly, but now instead of sitting in a chair all day, he lay in bed and stared blankly at the ceiling. When Steve did sleep, he set an alarm on his watch so that he’d wake up every half hour to make sure Bucky was still in the apartment. He’d gotten rid of all the painkillers that Bucky had stashed, as well as everything else Bucky had collected. Bucky had, of course, been furious at that.

He hadn’t shouted, or gotten visibly angry, or shown any signs of actual emotion other than hostility (which Steve had been kind of hoping for). Instead, he’d stalked quickly around the apartment in circles for hours, once he realized that all his things were gone. Once he was apparently certain that Steve had taken them, he’d glared viciously at Steve and then went back to his room. He shut the door behind him, which meant that Steve spent the next few hours standing in the hallway outside his door, listening worriedly to the sound of Bucky’s breathing, to make sure Bucky didn’t try to hurt himself again.

Steve now spent all day, every day, trying to deal with Bucky’s unpredictability. He didn’t dare to leave the apartment at all, and was completely reliant on Sam to bring him anything he needed. Which he hated, of course. He hated being dependent on anyone. He’d started trying to sneak extra money into the cash he gave Sam, to make up for wasting Sam’s time, but Sam would simply put the extra money back into the grocery bag without Steve noticing. He worked out as much as he could, but what he really wanted to do was run, and that was clearly out of the question.

He would make breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and try to get Bucky to eat as much of it as he could. Some days Bucky would refuse to eat at all, and others he would eat everything Steve put in front of him. Some days, Bucky would come to him with playing cards in his hands, and they’d play a few rounds in silence before Bucky would get tired or angry and storm off. Bucky slept even less than Steve, and when he did, Steve had to watch him closely. On the few occasions that he didn’t notice that Bucky had fallen asleep, he’d looked up to see Bucky stabbing his arm or legs with whatever sharp object he could get his hands on in an attempt to wake himself up. Or something like that. Steve really didn’t know, but he hated it and he hated watching it, and he hated seeing Bucky suffer like that.

It was exhausting. Steve was more tired than he’d been in a long, long time, which made dealing with Bucky even harder. Steve didn’t know what to do anymore. He didn’t think Bucky was making any progress at all. Now that Steve had taken all his painkillers away, Bucky spent a lot of time scowling and covering his eyes with his hands. Sometimes he would just sit with his eyes wide and frantic, and his breathing sharp. He looked like he was in agony, and Steve didn’t know what to do about it. He was too wary of giving Bucky more painkillers to help him that way, but Bucky refused to listen to any of Steve’s other advice.

Bucky still rarely spoke, and never smiled. His eyes were usually distant, like he was thinking of something else. When he did speak, it was always in response to a direct, easy question that Steve asked him. Which was also an unpredictable response, because sometimes when Steve asked him a harmless question (what kind of pizza did Bucky want?), Bucky would fix him with that awful, cold glare and storm away to another room. Occasionally Steve would hear him break some piece of furniture.

The others hadn’t let up with their constant texts to Steve, but he found himself replying less and less. The only reason he replied at all is because Natasha would threaten to come over to his apartment if he ignored her. One time she did come over. Clint was with her, too. Steve knew it was them, because he could hear them arguing quietly all the way down the hallway to the door of Steve’s apartment. Bucky, who had been sitting in his chair staring out the window, like always, whipped around when the knock came on the door. He was on his feet immediately, holding a knife in his hand and glaring at the door. Steve had no idea where he could possibly have gotten that knife from. With a sigh, he pulled himself off the couch where he had been half asleep, half flipping through an old history textbook.

“Steve!” Clint called through the door. “It’s us! We brought pizza.”

Steve started to move towards the door, but when he glanced back at Bucky, he saw that Bucky’s face looked almost… scared?

“Please don’t let them in,” Bucky said. It was the longest sentence he’d said in a week and a half, and the tone of his voice took Steve by surprise. He sounded frightened, and like he was almost on the verge of panic.

“Okay,” Steve said calmly. “Is it okay if I just talk to them for a minute? I won’t let them come inside.”

Bucky nodded quickly, his hand tightening around his knife.

“Steve?” Clint’s voice called again. “Come on. You know that we’ll come in even if you don’t open the door. Natasha already wanted to just climb up onto your balcony, but I made her try the door first.”

Steve unlocked the door and opened it just enough to let them see him, but not further into the apartment.

“Hey,” he said, trying to smile.

Both Clint and Natasha stared at him for a moment.

“You look awful,” Natasha said finally.

Steve frowned at her. “Thanks.”

Clint snorted. “No, really, you look fucking tired. Can we come in? We brought pizza,” he said again, holding up the pizza box hopefully.

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “Ah, now’s not a great time, guys. I really appreciate the two of you coming by though.”

Clint and Natasha exchanged glances.

“Steve…” Natasha trailed off.

“Not now, Nat,” Steve said desperately. “Please.”

Natasha watched for a moment. Steve knew she was examining the dark circles under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders.

“All right,” she said finally. “We’ll leave, but only if you call me when it’s a better time. And then we’ll come back.”

“Okay,” Steve said, a little frantically. He could feel that Bucky had moved closer to the door in the time that they’d been talking. “Okay, I promise.”

“Take the pizza, at least,” Clint said, handing it to Steve.

“Thank you,” Steve said hurriedly.

Natasha started to move down the hallway, pulling Clint along with her. “Remember to call, Steve” she said as they disappeared around the corner. Steve slammed the door shut and locked it, turning around to find Bucky standing only a few feet behind him. The knife was in his hand, and his eyes were still locked on the door.

“It’s all right,” Steve said gently. “They’re friends. They just want to help.”

“I know,” Bucky said. “I’m sorry.”

He stood there for another fifteen minutes after Natasha and Clint had left, still staring warily at the door. He also refused to eat any of the pizza.

As it turned out, Steve never got the chance to call Natasha. Two days later, Steve suddenly jolted awake. He was lying in his bed, trying to get a few minutes of sleep. He couldn’t have been asleep for very long, either, but now his eyes were open and his spine tingled. He forced himself to keep his breathing slow and his heart rate steady, and looked around his room as much as he could without moving his head.

It took him a moment to even notice Bucky. He was standing in the shadows cast by the bedroom door, hidden behind it. His hair was mostly obscuring his face, but Steve could tell he was clutching his knife in his hand. He must have noticed that Steve had woken up, because he slowly raised his right hand and put his finger to his lips.

A moment later, Steve heard the distinctive noise of his balcony door sliding slowly open.


	12. In all chaos, there is calculation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Glory and Gore", by Lorde.

Neither Steve nor Bucky moved. Steve couldn’t see the threat, if there actually was a threat, but Bucky clearly could.

Without warning, Bucky leaped from the shadows towards something on the other side of Steve’s bed. The instant he moved, Steve threw himself out of bed and towards his shield. He grabbed it with one hand and spun around, just in time to see Bucky shove something down onto his bed with his left arm. The thing was strangely blurry, to Steve’s eyes, and it looked almost invisible. At least, it did, before Bucky stabbed his knife into the thing’s neck. Some kind of horrible-looking dark liquid spurted out, and the creature made a disgusting gasping noise before going still. It was vaguely humanoid, but it’s limbs were too long, like a human who’s body had been stretched.

In one fluid motion, Bucky spun around and kicked another one. Steve hadn’t even seen it. It moved in the shadows, but Bucky’s kick knocked it into the moonlight spilling across the floor. Steve reflexively threw his shield at its head. With a sickening crack, the creature dropped to the ground and lay still, its eyes open. Steve noticed with horror that its eyes looked almost human, expect they too were the wrong size for the creature’s face. Other than that, it had no real defining features.

Steve grabbed his shield again, looking frantically at Bucky. Bucky was pulling his knife out of the first creature’s neck, while scanning for more threats.

“What the hell are these?” Steve nearly shouted, quickly lowering his voice at the last moment. Bucky was staring at the balcony door, frowning.

“I told you you needed more security on that,” he muttered. Steve stared at him.

“We need to go,” Bucky insisted, already moving out of the room. Steve secured his shield on his arm, following him.

“Do you know what those are?” Steve asked again as he grabbed his shoes and pulled them on. He was only wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, but it would have to do. He grabbed his phone off the counter and shoved it in his pocket as they went.

“No,” Bucky said impatiently. His hand was already on the doorknob as he waited for Steve to get his shoes on. “Hurry up.”

“I am hurrying,” Steve muttered under his breath as Bucky pulled the door open and darted out into the hall. He was pretty sure he heard Bucky mutter something else under his breath, which sounded to Steve like something in Russian that probably wasn’t very kind.

Steve didn’t bother wasting time locking the door behind them. By the time he caught up to Bucky, Bucky had already gotten into the stairway and was moving towards the stairs, impatiently looking over his shoulder to make sure Steve was following him.

Bucky didn’t bother to actually take the stairs. Instead, he jumped straight down the middle of the staircase, using his left arm to break his fall halfway through, and then dropping the rest of the way. Steve jumped straight down, and followed Bucky out onto the street. It didn’t look like anyone was following them, but Steve had no way of being sure.

Steve followed Bucky as he sprinted for a few blocks. Finally, Bucky ducked into a small, dark, empty alley.

“Where are we going?” Bucky asked him. He was almost invisible again, pressed back into the shadows.

“Uh, the tower, I guess?” Steve said, leaning against the wall as he caught his breath. “I don’t know where else to go, but it’ll be safest there. For now, at least.”

Bucky was frowning at Steve's shield. “That thing is not subtle, at all. It has a fucking target painted on it.”

Steve glanced down at his shield. “Well, that’s kind of the point, but-“

Steve’s phone suddenly rang, its shrill beeping echoing through the alley. Bucky glared at him, and Steve frantically fished it out of his pocket. He answered it as quickly as he could, but Bucky still glowered. 

“Steve?” Natasha’s voice shouted.

“Natasha?” he asked. “Nat, what’s going on?”

“You need to get back to the tower, right now. We-“

He heard noise in the background of the call, and then the sounds of Tony shouting something.

“What’s-“ Steve tried again. He was interrupted by Bucky’s knife whizzing by his head and slamming into another horrible creature, which was crawling its way down the wall of the building. Steve ducked, and started running again, shoving his phone back into his pocket. The two of them took off again, with Bucky leading the way.

They made it back to the tower in record time, without stopping again.

Steve led the way to the small, plain door on the side of the building. It swung open before Steve could even reach it, and Natasha reached out and pulled Steve inside. She pulled the door shut behind Bucky, and Steve heard the sound of bolts starting to lock the door securely.

“Nat, what’s going on?” Steve asked breathlessly. Natasha had already darted down the hallway and into the stairwell at one end. Steve followed her, glancing behind at Bucky. He stayed close behind Steve, his face cold and his eyes focused.

“Hurry!” she called over her shoulder as she took the stairs three at a time. The lights in the stairwell flickered suddenly, and then went out completely. Steve stopped halfway up a flight of stairs, blinking frantically as his eyes adjusted to the almost complete darkness. There was light filtering dimly in from somewhere up the stairwell, but it was still difficult to see properly, even with Steve’s eyes.

Bucky nearly ran into Steve, but darted around him at the last second. Bucky stopped next him on the stairs. Steve could see that he too was trying to get his bearings in the darkness.

“Steve, c-“ Natasha started to say. Steve didn’t even seen anything move, but something knocked her backwards over the stair railing. She immediately twisted and grabbed onto the railing with one hand, but Steve heard her sudden shriek of pain and watched as she let go.

Steve lunged over the rail and grabbed her arm as she fell. Natasha wrapped her other arm around Steve’s shoulders, and he pulled her back over onto the stairs. Above them, Steve heard Bucky leap forward. There was a loud clanging noise, and then the familiar sound of Bucky crushing something with his metal arm.

“Keep going,” Natasha gasped out. She was clutching her right hand tightly with her left. “47th floor.”

It turned out they were only a few floors away. Steve and Natasha had to jump over the crumbled body of something that looked very similar to the thing that had attacked Steve in his apartment. Bucky was waiting for them on the landing of the 47th floor. He was staring at his metal hand, flexing and opening it again.

“It’s us,” Natasha shouted through the door. Steve heard the noise of bolts being manually opened, and the door was quickly pulled open. Clint was standing on the other side, and he waved them through. Once they were all inside, he pulled the door shut behind them and started locking it again.


	13. We can't slow down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Ain't No Rest For The Wicked", by Cage The Elephant.

                                                                                                             BUCKY

Bucky quickly scanned the room. It was clearly under construction, with ladders placed around the room and a few pieces of furniture covered in tarps. There was one wall with floor to ceiling windows, and the other walls were blank. A bunch of computers were set up on a few tables, but other than that, the room was empty.

Steve was arguing with two other men, while still holding onto Natasha’s arm. They were explaining to him that something was attacking the tower, and it was effecting the power grids. Or something. Bucky wasn’t really listening. Clint was examining Natasha’s broken hand, while she tried unsuccessfully to pull it away from him. Bucky noticed that all of the people in the room would occasionally look at him warily, but he ignored them. He stood close behind Steve, and frowned at his hand. He’d crushed the throat of Natasha’s attacker easily, but some of its blood had covered his left hand. If it was blood.

 He flexed his hand again, frowning. It still worked fine, but there was a weird sensation in it that Bucky couldn’t identify. He’d never felt anything like it, not that that meant anything. He was also a little annoyed that he’d lost the only knife he had on him.

Steve’s friends, if that was what they were, were all arguing with each other now. One of the men, whose face caused a flash of pain through Bucky’s head that he quickly pushed down, had thrown his hands up in the air.

“If you’d been here, Steve, then we wouldn’t have had to waste time trying to get a hold of you! Half of my energy grid is shut down, the other half-“

Bucky stopped listening when he noticed the slight shimmer in the air in the dark corner of the room. He reacted immediately.

He didn’t have any weapons on him, because Steve had kept taking them away, and he’d left his last knife in the alley. There were few things in this room to use as a weapon, and nothing that could be used quickly. The attacker was too far away for Bucky to act offensively using just his strength. He scanned the room again. Everyone was dressed in what looked like work-out clothes or pajamas, meaning none of them were probably carrying too many concealed weapons. Clint had a bow and arrows thrown over his shoulder, but he was carrying them in such a way that it would make it difficult for Bucky to get them from him easily. Natasha would never go anywhere without a weapon, though. Bucky didn’t know how he knew that, but it didn’t matter in that moment.

He processed all of this in an instant. He lunged forward and pulled the gun that Natasha kept strapped at the small of her back from her. She immediately started to turn towards him, her hand reaching out to grab it back from him. He twisted her arm in his and pushed her back towards Clint. As he did so, he shot at both creatures that were moving out of the shadows silently. He took both of their heads clean off.

He didn’t have time to look for more threats, though, because Natasha had already kicked his legs out from underneath him. He hit the ground hard, holding the gun out of her reach as she scrambled towards it.

Steve got between them immediately. “Bucky, give it back.” Steve wasn’t paying much attention, though. He was staring at the collapsed bodies in the corner.

Bucky scowled and tossed the gun back to Natasha. She caught it, glaring at him. “Never do that again.”

He glared at her, scrambling back to his feet. One of her hands was already broken, would she rather he had let those creatures break another?

Bucky stepped back behind Steve again, ignoring the way everyone was alternating between staring at him and staring at the bodies in the corner.

“Maybe we s _hould_ keep him around,” one of the men (the one that hurt Bucky’s head) said. “You have to admit, that was pretty cool. Bruce, come look at this.”

He was kneeling near the bodies, keeping a safe distance away. The other man (Bruce?) joined him, both of them murmuring a bunch of scientific terms that Bucky didn’t bother to listen to.

Bucky turned away slightly from the rest of the group, who were all talking about him anyways. He stared at his hand again. It still had that weird sensation in it, but he was also starting to feel sharp pain stabbing through it. It was emanating from the place where the creature’s blood had dried on it. Bucky tried to scrape some of it off with his other hand, but it had no effect. It didn’t hurt his normal hand, though.

“Buck?” he heard Steve ask behind him. “Are you okay?”

He turned around. “Yeah,” he muttered, still staring at his hand.

“Are you sure?” Steve asked again. He looked worried.

“Yeah, fine,” Bucky said shortly. He closed his hand and moved it behind his back a little.

Clint moved closer to Bucky and Steve, pulling Natasha with him. She was still cradling her hand, but the pain didn’t show on her face at all. Bucky narrowed his eyes at her. She made his headache worse, too. He stepped a little closer to Steve.

Clint held up his hands. “Hey, it’s all right. I just wanted to say thanks. For, uh, that,” he said, gesturing in the direction of the creatures’ bodies. “How did you know they were here? None of the rest of us even saw them.”

Bucky looked at Steve, who looked back him curiously.

“The air twists,” Bucky said. Steve, Natasha, and Clint all stared at him. “It, uh, the air flow, changes a little when they move. It’s subtle.”

At that moment, the lights overhead flickered and suddenly grew stronger. Bucky heard the familiar sound of machinery and electronics restarting as the building started up again.

“Jarvis?” the man who’s name Bucky still didn’t know said.

“The building has been completely scanned and resealed, sir,” a voice from nowhere said. “The only remaining threats are the ones located in your current room. Both have been successfully neutralized.”

“Thanks, Jarvis,” the man said distractedly, now poking at the bodies with a long stick he’d produced from somewhere while Bruce tried to stop him from doing so.

“I need to call Sam,” Steve said. He turned away and pulled out his phone. Clint was trying to get Natasha to let him look at her hand, and she was refusing. The pain in Bucky’s hand had now spread to his neck and shoulder. He gritted his teeth, and forced his hand to open again. He scratched at the dried blood with his normal hand, but it still refused to come off.

“Bucky?” he heard Steve say again. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Bucky muttered through his clenched teeth. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Steve said. He sounded exasperated. “What’s wrong?”

Bucky tried to open his mouth to reply, but the pain in his hand suddenly spiked sharply. It drove itself through his shoulders and into his skull, and his vision cut out instantly. He didn’t even have time to scream before he was thrown into unconsciousness.


	14. Through the crowd, I was crying out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "No Light, No Light", by Florence + The Machine!

When Bucky woke up, it took him a few minutes to become aware of his surroundings. It felt like he was floating, at first. Everything was dark and muffled. He could hear the sound of people shouting, but it was soft and unimportant. He didn’t bother to open his eyes. He couldn’t feel anything, and the lack of pain felt amazing. He drifted for a while, not bothering to try and move.

Gradually, his senses started to wake up. He knew someone was holding his right hand tightly. A little too tightly, actually, but Bucky didn’t mind. It was nice. His hearing started to get sharper, and the sound of people arguing became clearer. There was also the familiar sound of machines whirring, and of electronics beeping.

Bucky still didn’t bother moving until he started to feel his body again. Then he realized that people were pressing him back against whatever surface he was on, holding him down. His heartbeat spiked, and his eyes flew open. It took a second for his vision to clear, but he knew the familiar sight of someone bent over his arm, working on it.

Bucky swung his right arm up and over his head, successfully knocking the hands of the people holding him down off his body. In the same instant, he swung up his left arm at the throat of the person working on his arm.

He went to clench his fist around the person’s throat, but as he did so, pain shot up his arm. It felt like lightning as it slammed into his shoulder and stretched all the way up into his head.

Bucky screamed and let go. He threw himself backward off the table he was lying on, and scrambled for the corner of the room. His heart rate sped up even more as he took in the medical equipment spread across the room. He knew people were reaching towards him, but he kicked at them and stumbled backward until his back hit the wall. He sunk to the floor, clutching his left arm to his chest desperately. The pain wasn’t the worst Bucky had ever felt, by far, but it was still strong enough to make colours flash in his vision and his muscles clench.

He always got in trouble if he protested during a procedure. He was absolutely not allowed to do what he had just done. Inevitably, he would now be forced to finish the procedure and then he would be subsequently punished for his disobedience. Now that he’d woken up and behaved like this, he would be forced to complete the procedure awake. Bucky had long since learned what that would entail.

Bucky leaned his head back against the wall behind him. It felt like solid concrete. It would do.

People were kneeling in front of him, saying something, but Bucky couldn’t hear them.

He clenched his teeth and his shoulders, leaned forward, and then snapped his head back against the wall as hard as he could.

The initial crack of pain didn’t bother him at all, because he was once again ripped away into blissful darkness.

 

The next time Bucky opened his eyes, he winced against the light. The back of his ached, but the sharp pain from his left arm was mostly gone.

Bucky carefully sat up, trying to move his head as little as possible. He forced his eyes open again, taking in his surroundings.

He was in a living room, one that looked similar to the houses of some of the billionaires that Bucky had murdered. He’d spent three weeks once murdering billionaires. Where had that been? Why them? What year was that? Bucky didn’t know.

Steve was sitting on a sofa opposite the one Bucky was lying on. He was reading a book, but he put it on the cushion beside him when he noticed Bucky move.

Bucky ran his right hand over the back of his head and winced. It was swollen, and what felt like dried blood was matted in his hair.

“Hey,” Steve said softly.

Bucky looked at him. “What’s going on?” he asked. Or tried to. It came out kind of slurred, and with some accent that even Bucky couldn’t identify.

Steve seemed to understand him, though. “We’re still in the tower. We brought you here after you, uh…” he gestured at Bucky’s head. “Uh, after you passed out again. Thought it’d be better for you to wake up here.”

Bucky frowned as he started to remember what had happened. He lifted up his left hand and examined it. Bucky’s eyes widened with alarm as he tried to clench his fist, and found that three of his fingers wouldn’t close properly. The palm of his hand was no longer shiny, either. It was a dull grey, and Bucky thought he could see some of the wires that ran through his hand poking out. 

“Tony can fix it,” Steve said hurriedly. He was watching Bucky warily. “Are you… does it hurt?”

Bucky thought about it. The pain was nothing like it had been when Bucky had woken up before. The sharp pain was gone, and in its place was just a mild tingling sensation. Or burning. Or a combination of both. If anything, it felt like that time Bucky had accidentally spilled a poison he was making all over his right arm. It had taken several layers of his skin off before he’d managed to clean it up properly.

“Not really,” he said finally. “What happened?”

Steve hesitated. “Well… I don’t really know, actually. But Bruce and Tony apparently have an idea, which is why they currently have my shield.”

Bucky frowned. “You let them take your shield?”

Steve shrugged. “I could either have stayed with my shield or stayed with you, so…”

Bucky tried to stand up, but his legs gave out and he had to catch himself on the coffee table. Steve jumped up, looking worried, but Bucky waved him off.

“You need to go get it back,” Bucky insisted.

“I’m not leaving you here alone,” Steve said stubbornly. “You hit your head against the wall so hard that it cracked the concrete. I don’t want to think about what it did to your head.”

Bucky shrugged, and then winced as he did so. “Had worse.”

Steve’s stubbornness won out over Bucky’s. Steve refused to leave until Bucky had showered and washed the blood out of his hair, changed into clean clothes, and sat with an ice pack on the back of his head for an hour.

Finally, Steve agreed to let Bucky come with him. Steve still watched him warily as they stepped into the elevator, and Bucky leaned back against the wall. He didn’t feel particularly well, which was inevitable after what he’d done to his head. The pain in his hand was getting better, though.

The elevator rose silently and smoothly through the building. Bucky didn’t see any buttons or panels in the elevator, but it stopped at seemingly the correct floor. When the doors opened, Bucky noticed that they were once again in some kind of laboratory. He hesitated for a moment, his heart thudding loudly in his ears.

Steve looked at him worriedly. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

Bucky forced himself to breathe deeply and nodded. He stepped out of the elevator after Steve, making sure to stay close by him.

Natasha and Clint were sitting on a table, side by side. Clint was carefully wrapping Natasha’s hand with medical tape, but both of them looked up when Steve and Bucky walked in. Bruce and Tony were standing at some sort of tank, enclosed with glass. Bruce was staring through the glass, frowning slightly. Tony was off to the side at a row of computers, quickly typing on a keyboard with one hand and drinking from a coffee mug with the other. Bucky noticed that he had the beginnings of bruises forming around his throat.

“Glad you finally made it,” Tony said, spinning around in his chair to face them. “Good to see you’ve recovered from almost breaking my neck.”

Bucky stared at him impassively. Tony had been working on his arm. Bucky didn’t let anyone touch his arm. Steve would probably feel bad about almost breaking Tony’s neck, but Bucky wasn’t Steve.

“Tony”, Steve said warningly. His eyes flickered to the glass tank, and a small frown appeared on his face. Tony followed his line of sight, to where Steve was staring worriedly at his shield. It was suspended in midair in the tank.

“Ah. Right. Don’t worry, don’t worry. It’s fine, we haven’t even scratched the paint,” Tony said, spinning back around to face his computers again.

Steve looked doubtful, and folded his arms.

“Have you tried it yet?” he asked.

“Nope,” Tony said. “Took a while to get the blood of out of those… those… things. Did anyone think of a good name for them yet?”

“Gross creepy shadow things?” Clint suggested without looking up from Natasha’s hand.

“Nah. Not catchy enough,” Tony said. “Keep thinking. Okay, we’re ready. Bruce?”

Bruce walked over to the table where Tony sat, giving Bucky a wide berth on his way by. Natasha and Clint joined Steve and Bucky near the glass enclosure.

“Barnes, before we do this, can I take a look at your hand?” Tony asked, looking hopeful.

“No,” Bucky said shortly.

Tony shrugged. “Worth a shot. Anyway, Steve, we used the blood that we scraped off of Barnes’s hand to make… this!”

Tony gestured at the tank as stream of liquid dropped from a narrow hose in the tank. It spilled harmlessly over a small part of Steve’s shield.

“All right,” Tony said excitedly. “Now, time to test it out. Steve, if this fucks up your shield, I promise I’ll make you a new one. A better one.”

“I don’t want a new one,” Steve muttered under his breath. Tony had already started hitting keys on his computer, though, while Bruce monitored the screens. With a hiss, another liquid started to drip out of another hose in the tank. This liquid looked to be the creature’s blood.

As soon as the liquid hit Steve’s shield, it started to sizzle and bubble. Clint took a step back from the glass, his face disgusted.

“There it is,” Tony crowed. He quickly hit more buttons on his keyboard, and the first substance suddenly sprayed from all sides of the tank. When it hit the blood, the sizzling stopped and the blood was washed off the shield. A substance that looked like water washed off the rest.

“I was right!” Tony said triumphantly. He half jumped over the table in his eagerness to get to the tank. “Bruce, come look,” he said as he opened the lid of the tank and reached in.

Steve, Natasha, Clint, and Bucky all took a step back.

“Jesus Christ,” Clint said. “Why are you opening that?”

“It’s fine,” Tony said impatiently as he reached for Steve’s shield. “It only affects vibranium.”

Clint didn’t look convinced. “ _You_ only affect vibranium,” he muttered under his breath. Natasha rolled her eyes. Bucky snorted.

Clint looked at Bucky, a grin spreading over his face. He didn’t get a chance to say anything, though, because Tony had pulled Steve’s shield out of the tank and everyone was crowding around it.

“See? Look, it dissolved the paint and was starting to eat the vibranium,” Tony said to Bruce. He yelped as Steve grabbed the shield out of Tony’s hands.

“What did you do?” Steve asked worriedly, running his fingers over where the paint on part of his shield had been.

“Relax,” Tony said impatiently, reaching for the shield again. Steve held it out of his reach. “I didn’t let it get enough to damage the integrity. It’ll still work fine, just repaint it.”

Steve scowled at him. “Is that why it damaged Bucky’s arm? Because it’s made of vibranium?”

“We think so,” Bruce said. “Tony managed to scrape most of it off in time, so it shouldn’t have damaged the arm too badly.”

“I think it definitely ate through at least a few of the wires and sensors, though,” Tony said, looking hungrily at Bucky’s arm. “I can fix that right up though, if you-“

“No,” Bucky said again, glaring at Tony. Nobody was going to touch Bucky’s arm unless Bucky asked them to.

“All right, all right,” Tony said, throwing his hands up in surrender.

“Okay, so we can assume they’re after vibranium,” Natasha said as she leaned against the glass of the tank. “That’s why they went after Steve and Bucky. But why attack here? They started attacking the tower before the two of them even got back here.”

Tony and Bruce glanced at each other. “Well…” Tony started, trailing off.

“Do you have vibranium here?” Steve asked, frowning.

Tony hesitated, which apparently was an answer on its own.

“Imagine the arrows I could make,” Clint muttered to Natasha.

“No, no, I don’t have a lot,” Tony said quickly. “But, I, uh, might know where to get more. It-“

Tony didn’t get to finish his sentence, because in the next instant, the tower suddenly shook under their feet and all the lights immediately went out.

Bucky thought he heard Clint sigh.


	15. I'm gonna fight 'em off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Seven Nation Army", by The White Stripes. Which is an excellent Bucky song, if you're interested. 
> 
> ALSO, THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO LEFT ME COMMENTS AND KUDOS AND MESSAGED ME ON TUMBLR. Seriously, it means so much to me and I love all of you. And if you're still reading this far in, thank you!

“Okay, nobody panic,” Tony said, sounded panicked. He started frantically clicking keys on his computer, which had turned completely off.

“Nobody’s panicking, Tony,” Natasha said calmly. Bucky saw that she had produced a gun and a knife from somewhere, and was holding them easily as she scanned the room. Clint had his bow in hand, and had put his back to the glass tank.

“Jarvis?” Tony tried. There was no response.

There was another loud crash, and the building shook again. This one sounded like it was only a few feet below them.

Steve clicked his shield onto his arm. Bucky flexed his hands, wishing he had his weapons.

A glint of silver caught his eye, and he turned. Natasha was holding a knife out to him, handle first. He took it gingerly, staring at her. She stared back evenly.

“Thank you,” he said. She nodded once and turned away, but Steve turned to look at him. He looked confused.

“What did you say?” he asked Bucky softly. Bucky stared at him. He’d clearly said thank you to Natasha. He didn’t understand why that was confusing.

Bucky’s train of thought was interrupted by Clint frantically shaking one of the doors in the room.

“This door is locked,” he said. “It’s definitely locked.”

“The building is probably just locked down,” Bruce said, calmly moving over to another door. “We just need to type in the override code...”

Bruce typed something into the keypad beside the door. Nothing happened.

“Okay,” Tony said quickly. “Okay, it’s fine. We’ve handled worse.”

Another explosion came from what sounded like the floor below them. Clint was now trying to pry open the door with one of his arrows.

“Let me try,” Steve said, going to the door that Clint was working on. He pulled at the handle, leaning back slightly as his shoulders strained. It didn’t budge.

“Yeah, I made those strong enough to hold Bruce in,” Tony said. Steve and Clint turned to stare at him.

“Tony,” Bruce started. “This room isn’t, ah, big enough to hold me, if it turns into a fight. I think it would be best if the others got out.”

“Oh, great,” Clint said. Bucky saw Natasha’s hand tighten around her gun. Steve was trying to break the handle on the door with his shield.

“This is definitely a code 438”, Tony said. He was still trying to wake his computer up.

“What the hell is code 438?” Clint asked. He was quickly working on one of his arrowheads. Bucky wasn’t sure what he was doing.

“I told you last week! Did none of you read the email I sent you?” Tony asked, sounding indignant.

“No,” Clint and Steve said together.

“I did,” Natasha said.

At that moment, the sound of an explosion came from outside the door that Steve and Clint were standing in front of. The door buckled in the middle.

Clint shouted, and Steve immediately threw himself against it. He pressed back against the door, as a screeching noise came from the other side.

Bucky watched with admiration as Clint leapt backwards and grabbed an arrow from his quiver. In one smooth motion, he shot the arrow through the gap between where the door was buckling and the door frame. A horrific scream sounded from the other side, and the weight on the door let up. Steve immediately slammed it back into the frame.

“What was it?” Natasha asked Clint. She still had her gun pointed at the door.

“I don’t know, but whatever it was, I shot it,” Clint said. He looked alarmed.

“Steve?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah?” Steve said, looking over his shoulder as he held the door.

“The windows,” Bucky said. He tightened his grasp on the knife Natasha had given him.

“Uh, what about them?” Tony said, spinning in his chair to stare at the wall of windows.

“How strong are they?” Bucky asked.

“Well, not all that strong, actually,” Tony said, frowning. “I didn’t get a chance to Bruce-proof those yet, but they’re still-“

Bucky was already running towards the windows before Tony finished his sentence. It took him 2 seconds to cross the room and leap for the window. By the time he hit, with his left arm extended to protect his head, Natasha had already shot several bullets into the window in front of him. The window didn’t break, but it fractured enough that Bucky crashed through it easily.

It wasn’t until he started falling that he realized he hadn’t asked what floor of the building they were on.

As he started to fall, he grabbed the shadow creature that had been crawling on the outside of the window with his right hand. As he fell the first four stories, he easily impaled the creature with Natasha’s knife through its neck.

He fell the first 30 stories easily and calmly. It was then that he remembered that his left arm was malfunctioning.

He frantically reached out too early, and attempted to grab onto a window ledge of the building. His hand caught, but it didn’t have the strength or dexterity that it normally did. He was usually able to let his arm take most of his weight, but this time his arm was barely strong enough to swing his body towards the wall.

Bucky improvised. He pulled the creature’s body in front of him, and so most of his body crushed the creature between himself and the wall when he swung into it. The force of crashing into the wall knocked his grip on the ledge loose, and Bucky dropped all the way to the ground. It was only ten more stories, but he landed on the concrete hard enough to knock the wind out of his lungs.

He immediately rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. He quickly checked to make sure nothing was broken, and was pleased to find that all of his legs and arms were working properly. He couldn’t stand up yet, though, because he still couldn’t take a proper breath.

He sat down on the concrete and leaned back, once he established that there were no threats in his immediate vicinity. The area was fairly clear of people too, which was probably because of the giant hole someone has blasted into the side of Tony’s tower.

Bucky was finally starting to get his breath back when a door on the side of the building burst open and Steve ran out. His face was wild and his eyes were panicked. He sprinted over to where Bucky was sitting. He clearly relaxed when he realized Bucky wasn’t dead, and now he just looked mad.

“Really, Bucky?” Steve said. His tone of disapproval was so overly stern that Bucky couldn’t help but laugh. He had to grab his ribs, because laughing hurt, but still. It was funny.

Steve stared at him.

“We need to go,” Bucky wheezed out once he stopped laughing. He struggled to his feet, with Steve still staring at him.

A loud roar echoed from somewhere up in the tower, and both Steve and Bucky turned around to stare.

“Let’s get out of here,” Steve said, already backing away. “Those things will probably follow us and leave the tower alone. I hope. Are you okay to run?”

Bucky nodded, still clutching his side. “You should stay with your friends. Give your shield to me. If it’s vibranium they want, they’ll follow me.”

Steve stubbornly swung his shield onto his back. “No. Come on, let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much for your nice comments and messages, it means the world to me! I'm always over at cameronwolfe.tumblr.com if you want to talk!


	16. With eyes so blank and unsure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Phantom" by Of Monsters and Men. Again. I'M SO SORRY I LOVE THAT SONG AND IT FITS. 
> 
> Also, thank so much to everyone who's still reading and commenting and sending me messages, I love it so much and I'm so so grateful!

                                                                                                           STEVE

“Where are we going?” Bucky asked. They’d been running for several minutes, and so far it didn’t seem like anyone was following them. Steve would have been comfortable to run for several more hours, at least, but Bucky was making an unhealthy wheezing noise that he was clearly trying to hide.

“I’ll explain when we get there,” Steve said over his shoulder. He briefly considered making Bucky continue to run, as punishment for his idiotic leap out of Tony’s window, but he disregarded that immediately. With a sigh, Steve jogged to a halt. Bucky caught up to him within a few steps, his right hand still pressed to his ribs.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked. “Did you break anything?”

Bucky shook his head, still panting for breath. “Just bruised. It’ll heal.”

Steve looked at him doubtfully, but he was still too pissed off to keep pressing the issue. He glanced around the street instead. The street was fairly quiet, but they were still in New York and people were up at all times of night. He could see two women walking arm in arm on the other side of the street, staring at him with wide eyes and whispering to each other. He also saw a man standing in a window, holding a small child up and pointing down at them. Steve was still carrying his shield, which, as Bucky had said, wasn’t exactly subtle.

“Okay,” Steve said, scanning the street. “We need a car.” 

He started jogging again, albeit a little slower to make it easier on Bucky. Bucky easily caught up with him, and gave him a glare that clearly meant that he didn’t want to be coddled. Steve ignored him.

This street was lined with cars, and was luckily quieter. Steve glanced around. “Look for a car that – “

Steve heard a click behind him, and turned around to see Bucky holding the door open on a small, inconspicuous car. Steve raised his eyebrows. It looked like Bucky was trying not to smirk.

“Fine,” Steve said. “But you’re not driving.”

Bucky looked offended. “Why not?”

“You’re a terrible driver,” Steve said, going around to the driver’s side of the car.

“Am not,” Bucky muttered, but he let Steve take over.

“Well, you used to be,” Steve said, as he started hot-wiring the car. He didn’t have to look up to know that Bucky was scowling.

By the time they got the car started and got out of the city, Bucky had lapsed back into sullen silence. He was curled in the passenger’s seat, examining the knife Natasha had given him. His face was cold, and his shoulders were hunched and tense. He’d been so much more animated earlier, and he’d _laughed_.

Steve tried to draw him out again, but Bucky ignored all of Steve’s attempts at conversation. Occasionally Bucky would twist around his seat and watched the road behind them for a while to make sure no one was following them, but then he’d sit back again and stare at his knife.

They drove in silence. Gradually, the city began to fall away as the sky lightened.

By the time they’d been driving for a few hours, Steve was struggling to blink away the exhaustion from his eyes. Bucky still sat silently next to him. He hadn’t even looked at Steve in hours.

“This isn’t because I wouldn’t let you drive, is it?” Steve asked, trying to lighten the mood a little. Bucky didn’t even seem to have heard him.

They stopped for gas, once, in a small town near the Canadian border. Steve looked over at Bucky when he stopped the car. Bucky hadn’t moved an inch.

“Do you want to get out and walk around for a minute?” Steve asked. “I’m going to grab some food from inside, I’ll just be a minute.”

Bucky didn’t move. Steve bought a couple of sandwiches and a few bottles of water, and paid for the gas. When he was back in the car, he reached over to hand a sandwich and a water bottle to Bucky.

Bucky finally turned to look at him, his face still blank. He took the sandwich and water from Steve, though, and slowly opened the packaging as Steve pulled back out onto the road. Bucky ate slowly, and stared resolutely out the window, but Steve was relieved to have gotten some sort of reaction from him.

Steve tried to open the plastic packaging on his sandwich with one hand as they drove, but he was reluctant to take his eyes off the road. The sandwich disappeared from under his hand, and Steve glanced over to see Bucky holding Steve’s unwrapped sandwich out to him. Bucky had also opened Steve’s bottle of water and set it in the cup-holder next to him.

“Thanks,” Steve said, taking the sandwich from Bucky. Bucky didn’t respond.

By the time Steve pulled off the main highway, the sun was well on its way across the sky. Steve drove the car over a rough gravel trail until it abruptly stopped.

“I think we need to walk from here,” Steve said uncertainly. He turned the car off and got out, taking a moment to stretch.

They were in a quiet forest, which was sparse enough to let some light filter down through the trees. Steve took a breath of the fresh air.

Bucky’s door slammed behind him as he got out. He stood stiffly and silently beside the car, watching Steve with dull eyes. He still held Natasha’s knife loosely in his hand.

“I’m not really sure where to go from here,” Steve admitted. “I thought there’d be a more obvious path. Or road. Or something.”

The road had simply ended in the middle of the forest.  There were no paths, or signs, or anything else that could indicate which way to go.

Bucky looked around for a moment. “This way,” he said, his voice flat and dull. He started walking into the forest.

Steve jogged after him. “How do you know?” he asked, confused. “You don’t even know where we’re going.”

Bucky stopped so suddenly that Steve had to jump to the side to avoid running into him. Bucky leaned over and tapped a tree next to them. He was pointing to an innocuous cut in the bark of the tree. To Steve, it looked like a natural part of the bark.

“Natasha’s,” Bucky said by way of explanation. He started walking again.

“How would you know that?” Steve asked. Bucky didn’t reply.

“Bucky!” Steve demanded, running in front of him. “How did you know that? I didn’t even know that.”

Bucky stared at him. He looked tired.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. He pushed past Steve again and continued walking.

They walked for hours, or so it seemed to Steve. It was hard to keep track of time in the forest, especially as the trees grew thicker and less light from the sun shone in.

Abruptly, Bucky stopped. Steve almost ran into him again.

Bucky was frowning. “It stopped.”

Steve still hadn’t been able to figure out what path Bucky had been following, but apparently it wasn’t there anymore. Steve sighed.

“Okay, well – “ Steve started.

“Hey, guys,” Clint’s voice said from behind them.

Bucky spun around and, in the same movement, threw his knife before Steve could even react. Steve turned just in time to see Clint catch the knife an inch before it would have buried itself in Clint’s eye.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Clint said, his hand clasped tightly around the knife’s handle.

“Oh my god,” Steve said.

Clint flipped the knife around so he was holding onto the blade, and held it out to Bucky. Bucky stared at him, eyes wide and frightened.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry,” Clint said. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that. My bad.”

Bucky quickly reached out and grabbed the knife back from him. He backed up a few steps, away from Clint.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said desperately.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Clint said. “My fault. Well, we should probably get going.”

He turned and walked deeper into the forest. Bucky and Steve followed, with Steve will watching Bucky worriedly. He didn’t like the panicked look on Bucky’s face.

“How long were you following us?” Steve asked as they walked. Clint moved quickly through the forest, and Steve had to hurry to keep up with him.

“Eh, about an hour, give or take,” Clint said. “Had to make sure no one was following you.”

“And?” Steve asked.

“No one. We’re good.”

Steve noticed how quietly Clint moved through the forest. He was fast, but his feet were soundless as he walked. The only noise he made was when he spoke.

“It’s not that much further from here,” Clint said. “He,” he gestured at Bucky, “was actually doing a pretty good job of following Natasha’s path.”

Bucky said nothing.

“Okay, but how – “ Steve said, frustrated. Clint glanced at Bucky and then back at Steve.

“Not now,” he said to Steve. “Later. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Steve ground his teeth, but Bucky was staring at him worriedly. Steve took a breath, and let it go. For now.

“Perfect timing,” Clint said as they suddenly arrived at a small house among the trees.


	17. It takes your mind again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Exile Vilify", by The National. 
> 
> This chapter has some torture and violence in it, in case you're uncomfortable with that!
> 
> Thank you for reading this far! I love all of you

The house was small and inconspicuous, clearly designed to blend into the forest. Steve wasn’t sure if he would've been able to see it, if Clint hadn’t lead them right to it. There was no clearing around the house, and it didn’t have any sort of yard. It was pressed right into the forest, with several trees right up against the side of it. It had plain brown siding and a small porch on the front. Its’ two storeys weren’t even tall enough to clear the tops of the trees, which Steve thought was probably intentional.

Clint led them up to the porch. Natasha was sitting on the railing, but she jumped off when they walked up.

“Glad you could make it,” she said, smiling. She held her hand out to Steve expectantly.

Steve pulled a handful of chocolate bars out of his pocket and gave them to her. He’d bought them on the way here, as per her request.

“Thanks,” she said, smiling. “Okay, Clint, go grab those chocolate bars we got from Norway, and I’ll prove to you that the Norwegian ones are better.”

“No way,” Clint protested as Natasha led the way inside. “You can’t convince me that they’re better than Hershey’s. You can’t do it.”

Steve smiled at their light-hearted banter, feeling a little less stressed already. Bucky didn’t seem to share his feelings, though. As they stepped into the cool interior of the house, Bucky was glowering at everyone and everything. His messy hair was covering most of his face, and he was clutching his knife tightly.

Clint grabbed the chocolate bars from Natasha and went into the small kitchen, while Natasha led Steve and Bucky down the hall. The front door had opened onto a small, plainly furnished living room, with a kitchen off to the side and a hallway leading into the rest of the house. The hallway shared space with a rickety-looking staircase that led to the second floor.

“Here’s one room,” Natasha said, pushing open one of the hallway doors. “And this is the other.” She pointed to a door directly across the hall. “Washroom’s that door there. You two can pick which room you each want. Or share. I don’t care.”

Natasha stepped to the side to let Steve take a look in both rooms. “Upstairs is off limits, that belongs to me and Clint.”

She watched Steve warily as she said it. Steve smiled at her.

“Sounds great,” he said. “Thank you, Natasha. This is perfect.”

“We’re going to make dinner in about an hour, if you want to help,” Natasha said. “Clint’s going to go get firewood. I’ll be upstairs, if you need anything.”

“Why do I have to do it?” Clint complained from the kitchen.

“Because I did it last time,” Natasha called back as she jogged up the stairs.

“I can help,” Steve offered as Clint walked back out into the living room.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Clint said easily. “I’ll be back in a bit. You just, uh…” Clint cast a worried look at Bucky. “You two just get settled.”

Steve turned to look back at Bucky as Clint left. Bucky had his back pressed to the wall of the hallway. He was shaking slightly, and his eyes were flickering rapidly back and forth.

“Bucky?” Steve said softly. “Are you okay?”

Bucky said nothing.

“Look, why don’t you take this room?” Steve said. “It’s got a nice window,” he said helplessly.

Bucky’s eyes flickered to him, and he darted into the room Steve offered. He paced around it rapidly, still holding the knife.

Steve carefully stepped in after him. He made sure to quickly move out of the doorframe, so Bucky would have an exit if he needed. Steve carefully sat down in one of the old armchairs placed around the room.

“We’re safe here, Buck,” he said as gently as he could. Bucky abruptly stopped his pacing and stared at him.

“No,” Bucky snarled angrily. “We aren’t. We never are, Steve. You should know that.”

He resumed his angry pacing, this time muttering under his breath in a language that Steve didn’t know.

“Well, we’re as safe as we can be,” Steve said. “No one knows we’re here. We dumped all of our phones, so no one can track us. Nobody followed us here.”

Bucky didn’t respond. Steve let him pace for several more minutes before he tried again.

“What’s going on, Bucky? Just… just tell me what I can do. To help you. If you need me to leave, I will. If you want me to stay, I will.”

Bucky took a ragged breath and turned to face him. His eyes were wild, but most of the malevolence was gone. In its place was a level of fear and sadness that made Steve’s heart twist.

“I keep…” Bucky tried. He started pacing again. Steve waited.

“Every time I do something, or hear something, I get…flashes,” Bucky said haltingly as he paced. “But there’s no…there’s no context, or pattern, it’s just, just, pictures, sometimes, and phrases, and sometimes sound but not always, but sometimes the sound doesn’t match the picture. Sometimes I get whole things, whole complete memories that are all together but they don’t, they don’t, I don’t always understand where they’re from or what’s going on, it’s just in pieces. Everything’s in pieces.”

Bucky stopped pacing and slammed his back against the wall. He slumped down until he was sitting on the floor, with his knees drawn up.

Steve didn’t say anything. His chest felt like it was being crushed.

“When I’m with you, I see good stuff, mostly,” Bucky said, his voice muffled. “When you talk or smile or do anything I usually see good things. I like those. But, when I fight, or when people argue, or anything like that, I get the bad stuff too. It hurts, those ones hurt, a lot of the time, and not in some bullshit emotional way. They hurt, physically hurt. It hurts my head.”

Bucky pressed his head into his knees. Steve clenched his hands on the armrests of the chair so hard that he heard them start to crack.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Steve said quietly. “We can stay here for a while. You don’t have to fight, you don’t have to do anything like that.”

“No,” Bucky said sharply. He looked up. “No, I have to know. I have to know all of it.”

Steve didn’t know what to say to that. He felt a little like his throat had closed up.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Steve tried to force himself to breathe slowly and calmly, and Bucky sat with his head on his knees and his arms wrapped around his legs.

Finally, Bucky lifted his head. “Do you want to know what they did? Right at the start? For the first one?”

Steve didn’t know what Bucky meant by ‘the first one’, but he was pretty sure that he definitely did not want to know. Bucky was staring at him now, a challenge clear on his face.

“Yes,” Steve said with as much calmness as he could muster.

Bucky stretched his legs out in front of him, and started flipping his knife into the air and catching it again.

“I remember this completely,” Bucky started. “They let me keep this. They wanted me to keep it.”

Steve folded his arms and waited.

“It wasn’t too long after they found me. After the train. They were keeping me alive, but only just so. They kept me in a cell that was just warm enough so I wouldn’t die of hypothermia, but not warm enough to ever be comfortable. They only gave me enough food and water to make sure I wouldn’t starve, but not enough to gain back any kind of strength. They fixed up my injuries that would have killed me, but every single day they’d send a few guards in to beat me up until they got bored. They’d started building the first version of my arm, which meant that they would occasionally drag me out of my cell and shock what was left of my arm and shoulder to find out which nerves and tendons did what.”

Bucky was watching Steve carefully as he talked. Steve stared resolutely back.

“There was one guard there that they used to communicate with me. He was American, I think. I never found out why he was there, or why he was working for them. But he would translate for me, when they needed me to do something. His name was Thomas.”

Bucky paused, waiting for Steve’s reaction. Steve said nothing.

“He was nicer than the others, mostly. He was never one of the ones that beat me, and he’d always try to sneak me a little extra food when he could. Sometimes he’d help me snap my bones back into place after they broke. He had a wife, and a little baby girl. He’d show me pictures of them, sometimes. He loved talking about them. He loved talking in general. I think he liked having a chance to speak English again.”

Bucky continued flipping his knife as he talked, never taking his eyes off of Steve.

“We were friends, I guess. As good of friends as you can be in a place like that. He was kind. Reminded me of you, sometimes.”

Steve pushed down his own guilt and rage to focus. He owed it to Bucky to listen. It was the least he could do.

“Anyway, he was the one who started taking me to practice shooting. It was hard for me to hit the targets. I was weak, and sick, and off balance. And if I missed even one, they’d kick me until my ribs broke. But Thomas showed me how to fire with my new balance, and how to hold my arm steady even when I felt fucking awful.”

Bucky broke off for a moment, his eyes staring into space. He continued a minute later, but his face was still distant.

“We were there, in the shooting range, when a whole bunch of them came in. Thomas had been telling me about how his daughter had taken her first steps the day before, but then he was backing away. I put my gun down right away, like I was supposed to, but then they were shouting at me to pick it up again. And then some of a few of them were holding Thomas, and making him kneel down, and they took his gun, and then they were all standing around me. And then they told me to shoot him.”

Bucky stopped flipping his knife, and clenched the handle tightly.

“At first I thought that they’d done it on purpose, that Thomas was in on it, right? That he’d been nice to me so I’d trust him, and then they’d ask me to do this, to see what I would do. But he was screaming and then he starting crying and then he was begging me not to, he was using my name and crying about how his daughter needed him, stuff like that. And I started saying no, right? They started hitting me, like I knew they would, but I still wouldn’t do it. Thomas starts thanking me, telling me I can do it, and he wouldn’t fucking shut up. And then they started kicking, but that was normal, and my ribs were already busted up pretty bad so it didn’t matter that much anyway. So I’m still saying no, and then they bring out the electricity, and the shocks. And I’m used to that, but it hurts, it really fucking hurts, Steve. But I kept thinking about you, and what you would do.”

Bucky was pointing the knife at Steve now. Steve was clenching his jaw as tightly as he could.

“I knew that you would hang on, that you wouldn’t do it, right? So I’m lying there, on this cold fucking floor, and I can’t breathe because my ribs are all broken and my knees are cracked and my head feels like its splitting open, and Thomas is still crying and begging. And then they bring out the knives, Steve. Those fucking knives. Ever had a knife shoved under your fingernails?”

Bucky flipped his knife around and grabbed it with his left hand. He pretended to stab it under the fingernails of his right hand while Steve watched, his face like stone.

“Didn’t think so. Hurts like you wouldn’t believe. And I couldn’t see your face anymore, Steve, it was just gone, it was fucking gone, everything was gone. I just wanted it to stop, it hurt so fucking bad, and I was so fucking tired, and everyone was shouting at me, and I just broke, I broke, and I picked up the gun. And Thomas starts screaming, really screaming now, and I didn’t even hesitate, I just sat up and shot him, straight through the head. And then they took me back to my cell, except this time it’s warm and there’s blankets and pillows. Then they bring me food, real food, and actual clean water. They even let me take a shower. A fucking shower. And you want to hear the worst part?”

Steve really didn’t.

“The worst part was how happy I was with it. I enjoyed my shower and I enjoyed eating actual food, and I liked being warm. And I sat there eating my food and drinking my water and that was that. The next day they brought in someone else, someone I didn’t know, and I tried saying no, I really did. All it took that time was a few kicks to my ribs and I did it. But they took all the nice food and blankets away, and so when they brought someone the next day, I did it and I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t fucking hesitate.”

Bucky slumped back against the wall again and dropped the knife. His face was drawn and his eyes were tired. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Bucky…” Steve started. He had to clear his throat. “That’s… they were torturing you, Buck. You did what you had to do.”

Bucky laughed then, sharply. “Fuck you, Steve. You and I both know that that’s not true.”

Steve leaned forward, frowning. “It is, Bucky! They tortured you, you did all you could – “

Bucky sat up abruptly. “I didn’t! You wouldn’t have. You wouldn’t have done it.”

Steve shook his head. “You don’t know that – “

Bucky jumped to his feet. “Oh, I do. You wouldn’t have shot him, you wouldn’t have done any of the shit they made me do.”

Steve stood up too. “I would – “

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t even try.”

“Okay, Buck, let’s say I didn’t. Let’s say I didn’t shoot him. I’d be dead! They would have killed you –“

“And they should have!” Bucky shouted. “They should have killed me, Steve. I wish they had, I wish they fucking had, I wish I’d kept saying no and I wish they’d fucking killed me.”

Bucky was trembling as he glared at Steve, daring him to say something. Steve ran his hands through his hair. He wanted to punch the wall, but he didn’t think Natasha would like that very much. He turned around instead, and walked back out into the hallway. He slammed the front door behind him a little harder than he probably should have.


	18. You are my sweetest downfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Samson", by Regina Spektor. 
> 
> Shorter chapter today, I'm sorry!

 

BUCKY

 

Bucky was sitting cross legged on the floor when Natasha appeared in the door frame. He was leaning his head back against the wall, and didn’t bother to move when she walked in. He watched her dully, waiting for her to speak. She didn’t.

The silence lasted for a few minutes. Natasha leaned in the door frame, watching him. Bucky sat and stared into space.

“Did you hear all that?” Bucky asked finally. His voice was a monotone, he knew, but he couldn’t be bothered to put any life into it.

“Yes,” Natasha said simply. “I didn’t mean to, but sound travels well in this house.”

Bucky laughed shortly. “Yeah, I’m sure you didn’t mean to.”

He wasn’t looking at Natasha, but he was pretty sure she was frowning.

“What does that mean?” she asked, moving further into the room.

Bucky shrugged slightly. “I don’t know.”

Natasha moved into his line of sight. Her arms were crossed. “You don’t know?”

Bucky finally looked at her. “I don’t know,” he said again.

Natasha said nothing. She waited.

Bucky stared back. “What are you expecting me to say?”

Natasha knelt smoothly down on the floor in front of him. She didn’t break eye contact.

“I need to know what you know,” she said. Her face was cold.

Bucky leaned forward. “You’re gonna need to be more specific, Natalia.” He was pretty sure his voice had slipped into something cold and dark.

Natasha’s face didn’t change at his use of her other name, but he was pretty sure something subtly flickered in her eyes.

“I need to know,” she started, “what you know about me.”

Bucky leaned back, crossing his arms to mirror her. “Why?”

“You know why.”

“I don’t. I dunno if Steve let you know, but there a hell of a lot of things I don’t know.”

Natasha didn’t move, her face remaining cold. “You’re certainly more talkative than the last time I saw you.”

Bucky shrugged. “Started talking. Hard to stop.”

Natasha leaned forward. “Then keep talking. Tell me everything you know about me.”

Bucky leaned forward too, so their faces were inches apart. “Or what? What are you going to do, Natalia?”

Natasha watched him steadily. “I’m not going to threaten you.”

Bucky leaned back again. “Well, then, you’re shit out of luck.”

Natasha’s glare grew colder. “You must remember something, if you’re choosing to be cruel to me.”

“Choosing? I’m not choosing to be anything. I am cruel. You see that. Steve doesn’t.”

Natasha shook her head. “No. You aren’t. Steve knows that. I know that. You’re choosing this, and you can chose not to be. I’m trying to help you.”

Bucky laughed. “Help me? Help me with what?”

Natasha leaned closer again. “There are people that would kill for the information that you have about me. For the information that you have about a lot of things.”

Bucky shrugged. “That isn’t new. I’m used to it.”

Natasha took a deep breath in. “I just need to know that you will not use that information to hurt me, or someone I care about. That includes Steve.”

Bucky slammed his right hand on the floor between them. “I would never hurt Steve. I would never _let_ someone hurt Steve.”

Natasha searched his face for a moment. “Yes,” she said finally. “I believe you. But what about me? What about Clint?”

Bucky tried to hold onto his anger, but it was already slipping away. He was tired, and his head hurt. He slumped back against the wall.

“I wouldn’t hurt you, Natalia,” he said softly. He ran his hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t hurt you, or the people you care about.”

Natasha leaned back too, watching his face carefully.

Bucky let his head fall back against the wall. He closed his eyes. “I can’t tell you what you want to hear, Natalia. Everything is in pieces. It’s cold and it hurts and everything is in pieces and I can’t string anything together.”

“All right,” Natasha said quietly. “It’s okay.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“It’ll come back,” Natasha said finally. “It will. I just needed to know that… that when it does, my friends will be safe.”

Bucky breathed out slowly. “They will be. As long as I’m around, they will be.”

Natasha’s hand brushed the side of his face. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Bucky bowed his head into her hand.

He didn’t know how long they sat like that before someone cleared their throat in the doorway. Bucky opened his eyes and looked up, to see Steve standing in the doorway. He was looking at them curiously.

“Hey,” Natasha said easily. She stood up fluidly.

“Hey,” Steve said awkwardly. “Sorry for, uh, interrupting.”

“No problem,” Natasha said easily. “I need to get dinner started. Come help me in a few minutes?”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve said. He was still hesitating in the doorway, but he stood aside to let Natasha pass.

Bucky blinked slowly from his spot on the floor, waiting for Steve to speak. Steve finally stepped into the room, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched.

“Bucky…” he started. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run out like that.”

“Steve,” Bucky said slowly. “Stop apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Please, Buck, just let me, just…” Steve trailed off. He was clenching his jaw.

Bucky rubbed his hands over his face. “Let’s just get dinner, all right? I’m sorry I… I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier.”

Steve looked like he wanted to say more, but he was interrupted by the sound of Clint’s laughter from the kitchen.

“Hey, Steve! Bucky!” Clint called. “What’s better, spaghetti or macaroni?”

Bucky pushed himself tiredly to his feet. “Come on,” he said again to Steve. He moved past him and out of the room, towards the kitchen.

Steve stood for a moment later in the room by himself, before he turned and followed Bucky.


	19. You caused this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Youth", by Daughter. 
> 
> Thanks for all the messages and comments! I really appreciate it.

STEVE

The kitchen was pretty solidly stocked with food, and they actually managed to make a pretty good dinner. Clint found spaghetti sauce at the back of the cupboard, and despite a 3 minute argument about whether or not it was moldy, they ended up with heaping plates of spaghetti.

The four of them ate at the small table in the living room. It was a weird meal. Bucky sat with his head renting on his hand, and ate as slowly as he possibly could. He seemed exhausted from his earlier bout of talkativeness, and now sat sullenly and silently.

Steve was tired and angry. He hadn’t calmed down from his conversation with Bucky earlier, despite going out in the woods and kicking down trees for an hour. He was determined not to let his bad mood show, and so he tried to smile and keep up with whatever Clint and Natasha were talking about. He was pretty sure he wasn’t fooling anyone.

Clint was talking about some particular type of pizza sauce he’d had in Italy when Steve finally started paying attention to the conversation again.

“You ever been to Italy, Steve?” Clint asked, his mouth full of spaghetti. Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, forcing himself to look up from his pasta and make up eye contact. “Yeah, we were there for a few weeks once. I really liked it. Didn’t get a chance to try much of the food though.”

He realized belatedly that he’d automatically included Bucky in his answer. He mentally kicked himself. He didn’t need another stark reminder that Bucky probably didn’t remember Italy, or being there with Steve and the rest of the Howling Commandos.

To his surprise, Bucky looked up from his plate, frowning slightly. He stared at Steve, but said nothing.

“Did you go to Venice?” Clint continued. “Well, I mean, I’m guessing you didn’t get to sightsee a lot, what with the, uh, war and all…”

Steve shook his head. “Never got to Venice, but I actually saw a lot of the countryside and smaller towns. A lot of that war was just walking for days at a time.”

“Florence was my favourite city there,” Natasha said, easily curling spaghetti around her fork.

Clint looked at her incredulously. “Florence? Really? I hated Florence. That place was the worst.”

Natasha flicked a piece of spaghetti at him. “That’s because you got shot there and then wouldn’t stop complaining about it.”

Clint looked offended. “That’s because you kept wanting to do all those tourist things after! And I had a bullet hole in my leg!”

Steve was smiling at their banter, but he turned around when Bucky spoke up for the first time.

“Was it in the summer?” Bucky asked, looking down at his pasta.

Steve, Clint, and Natasha all glanced at each other.

“Was what in the summer?” Steve asked carefully.

It took a moment for Bucky to reply. He was still staring at his pasta, frowning slightly.

“In Italy”, he said slowly. “When… when we were there. Was it summer?”

Steve stared at him. “Yeah … yeah it was, Buck. The weather was way too hot. You got heatstroke at one point. Remember?”

Steve kicked himself for saying ‘remember’, but Bucky was nodding slowly.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “Yeah, you … you pushed me into a lake?”

Clint laughed. “You pushed him into a lake?”

Steve shrugged. He was smiling now. “Yeah, well, he kept complaining, so…”

Bucky still hadn’t looked up, but he seemed a little less sullen. While Steve talked, Bucky was running the fingers on his right hand over the table slowly from side to side.

Clint was still smirking, until Natasha gently punched him on the arm. “Laugh at Steve all you want, Barton, but you’re the one who fell off that boat that one time in Vancouver.”

Clint scowled. “Because I got poisoned and nearly died! That’s why I fell off the boat!”

Steve smiled. “Is that a common thing for you, Clint? Getting shot or poisoned while Natasha finishes your assignments?”

“Absolutely not,” Clint said.

“Yes,” Natasha said at the same time.

The rest of the dinner was mostly taken up by Clint and Natasha’s banter, with Steve trying to smile at the right times and Bucky sitting in silence. After dinner, Steve washed the dishes in the tiny kitchen sink. Clint set out a poker game on the table, while Natasha flipped through information on a tablet. Bucky sat silently at the table, examining his knife again.

Steve was surprised when Bucky actually nodded in response to Clint’s offer to join the poker game. He played silently, but he definitely smiled a little when he won one of the hands against Natasha. Natasha, of course, won the game, winning the pile of chocolate bars that they were using instead of money.

“Well, I’m going to head upstairs,” Natasha said as they cleaned up the game. “Oh, and a heads up, if you go outside tonight. We have perimeter sensors set up around the house. Don’t go more than 5 feet from the porch, all right?”

“Or else I’ll probably accidentally shoot you,” Clint added.  

“Of course, guys. Thank you again for letting us stay here,” Steve said.

Natasha gave him a look. “Steve. We don’t mind you staying here. Until Tony and Bruce track down whoever sent those things after you and the vibranium, it isn’t safe for you to be anywhere else.”

“I know,” Steve said hesitantly. “But I still really appreciate it. I don’t have all that many people to stay with, you know?”

He knew immediately that it was the wrong thing to say, because Natasha’s face fell.

“Steve,” she said softly, hesitating on the first step of the stairs. She glanced at Clint, who was packing up the playing cards. “You know, I’m not that tired, do you want to watch a movie or something? Clint’s never seen Star Wars.”

“I’ve seen one of them!” Clint said. “Just not the whole thing.”

The last thing Steve wanted was Clint and Natasha hovering over him. He knew Natasha worried too much about him already.

“I think I’m just going to go to bed,” Steve said. “Haven’t been sleeping much lately.”

“Sorry,” Bucky mumbled.

“No, Buck, don’t worry about it,” Steve said as brightly as he could. “Not your fault.”

Bucky’s face showed that he didn’t really believe that, but he didn’t say anything else.

“Well, goodnight,” Steve said in the awkward silence that followed.

“Goodnight,” Natasha and Clint said together. Bucky said nothing.

Steve made his way to his room and shut the door as gently as he could. He didn’t want to give off the impression that he was upset. Which he was, of course, but it was nothing that Bucky, Natasha, or Clint had done. Nothing that they could control, either.

Steve sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, staring out the small window at the forest beyond. The room was simple, with just a bed, dresser, and a few towels and blankets. All Steve had with him was his shield, and the small bag of clothes and toiletries that Tony had tossed at him as Steve had left the tower. He’d given him one for Bucky, too, which somehow had a few changes of clothes in Bucky’s exact size. Steve made a mental note to thank Tony for that.

Steve let his head drop into his hands. He was so, so tired. He tried to think rationally about what Bucky had said to him earlier that day, about how he wished that Hydra had just killed him. He quickly found he couldn’t think rationally about it, at all. Hearing Bucky talk like that not only made him scared for Bucky’s life, but it also intensified his normal rage at the people who had done this to Bucky in the first place.

He was not qualified to deal with this. Bucky needed more help than Steve could ever give him. That was a fact. Steve had no training in any sort of mental health issues, let alone the severe trauma that Bucky had suffered. Not to mention that Bucky’s trauma had been the direct result of Steve’s actions in the first place. None of this would have happened if Steve hadn’t been so fucking overconfident and selfish. Bucky never should have been on that mission, and he shouldn’t have been the one to fall off the train. Bucky was right, it should have been Steve that was captured by Hydra, not Bucky. Bucky should have gone back to New York, found a nice girl, gotten married. Had kids. Lived a long and happy life, away from all of this. Away from Steve. Bucky didn’t deserve this. But Steve had been selfish, and he’d been cocky, and he’d jumped head-on into dangerous mission after dangerous mission, dragging Bucky behind him all the way.

And now Steve couldn’t even look at Bucky without his heart twisting with pain. No matter what Steve did, he would never be able to make it up to Bucky, and it broke his heart. He hated seeing the rage and fear and pain in Bucky’s eyes, and there was nothing he could do to help Bucky get better. He wouldn’t stop trying, of course. Steve would never stop trying. Bucky deserved more than Steve, he deserved a better friend than Steve, but right now there was _only_ Steve and it looked like it was going to stay that way for a while. He should probably call Sam once they had access to a phone again, and ask him for more tips on how to handle Bucky’s mood swings. He should also ask Clint or Natasha where all the weapons were in the house, just to make sure Bucky didn’t steal any. Oh, he should check Bucky’s bedroom too.

Steve’s frantic list-making was cut off by the sound of his door creaking open slowly. Steve lifted his head from his hands and turned around, to see Bucky standing hesitantly in the doorframe.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said, shifting on the bed so he was facing him.

Bucky looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he stood in the doorway watching Steve.

“Uh, do you want to sit down?” Steve asked, patting the bed beside him. Bucky hesitantly crossed the room, sitting carefully on the farthest edge of the bed from Steve.

“I wanted…” Bucky started. “I wanted to apologize for earlier. I kind of… snapped at you, and I know you’re mad at me, and, I’m … I’m sorry.”

“Buck –“

“And I know that… that being around me makes you angry, and, and I know that you wanted your friend back, and that’s why you’re helping me, but I’m… I’m not really the type of person that should be around people, at all, let alone someone like you, so, I’ll just, go, I guess,” Bucky said.

Steve stared at him desperately. “Bucky, no, I’m not mad at you, all right? I’m not mad at you now, I wasn’t mad at you earlier, I never have been mad at you!”

Bucky looked at him doubtfully.

Steve amended his statement. “Okay, well, I haven’t been mad at you since you’ve, uh, been back. I used to get angry at you a lot, when we were kids, but still.”

Bucky still looked apprehensive. “I don’t want you to leave,” Steve said frantically. “I want you to stay with me as long as you want. As long as you need. If I get upset about something, it’s at the people who did this to you, the people who hurt you like this, all right?”

Bucky looked down at his metal hand, curling and uncurling it slowly. It made an awful scraping sound as he did so, from the damage done to it at Tony’s tower.

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky said softly. Steve had a feeling that Bucky still didn’t believe him completely, but at least Bucky wasn’t fighting him on it for the time being.

“How’s your hand doing?” Steve asked as gently as he could. Bucky closed his fist again.

“It’s okay,” he said slowly. “Doesn’t hurt, most of the time. Just kind of stiff, I guess.”

Steve nodded. “We can get that fixed once we leave here, okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. His eyes closed for a second, and his head bobbed slightly before his eyes snapped frantically open again.

“Do you want to get some sleep?” Steve asked. “You look tired.”

“Not really,” Bucky muttered. He rubbed at his face with his right hand.

Steve sighed. He understood why Bucky wouldn’t want to sleep. Steve had trouble sleeping because of his nightmares, and he was sure that his were nothing compared to Bucky’s. But still, Bucky needed sleep just as much as anyone. Probably. Either way, it might help with Bucky’s state of mind if he got a few hours of good sleep.

“You need to be rested to fight properly,” Steve said. “You can’t fight people off if you’re falling asleep.”

Bucky blinked slowly again. “Maybe just… a little bit. Just for a while.” He got determinedly to his feet.

“I’ll be right here, across the hall, if you need anything,” Steve called after him as Bucky shuffled across the hall into his room.

“’Kay,” he heard Bucky mumble as he closed the door behind him. Steve heard a sound like Bucky had fallen heavily onto his bed. Steve sat in his room and waited until he heard Bucky’s breathing slow. For someone who fought sleep so viciously, it took less than a minute for him to fall asleep. Steve bet it had something to do with the level of exhaustion that Bucky was dealing with.

Steve grabbed the toothbrush and toothpaste from the backpack and headed to the washroom to get ready for bed. When he was done, he fell back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. He didn’t shut his door, in case Bucky needed him for anything.

Steve’s muscles were tense and his thoughts were still racing, so he figured it would take a while for him to fall asleep. With a few minutes, though, he felt his eyelids getting heavy and his head starting to quiet.

Steve got at least a few hours of sleep before his eyes snapped open. The room was dark, but Steve knew that something was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far! And thanks to everyone who has left me kudos and messages and comments, I love it!


	20. Did you fall for the same empty answers again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Exile Vilify", by The National.

Steve twisted to the side just as the knife grazed his throat. The knife dug into his skin as he turned. He rolled to the side and off the bed, grabbing his shield with one hand as he landed on the floor.

“Bucky -“ Steve started to say, before Bucky jumped at him again. Steve swung his shield as Bucky’s full weight landed on top of him. The force of it knocked Bucky sideways into the bed, but the knife had already pierced Steve’s shoulder and stuck. Bucky didn’t let go of the knife as the shield hit him, and so the knife was dragged all the way through Steve’s shoulder. His shield cracked against Bucky’s head and back, but Bucky didn’t make a sound.

“Buck-“ Steve tried again, but Bucky’s face was cold and his eyes were blank. He lunged at Steve again, swinging the knife toward Steve’s face. Steve dropped his shield and used both of his hands to grab Bucky’s right arm. He twisted around so that Bucky’s arm was trapped underneath Steve’s chest, and wrenched the knife out of Bucky’s hand.

Bucky swung his metal arm around and wrapped his hand around Steve’s throat. Steve cried out as the pain ripped through his throat, but the metal plates in Bucky’s hand made that awful grating sound. Bucky’s grasp on Steve’s neck was weak, thanks to the damage already done to Bucky’s hand. Steve easily shrugged him off and twisted around, crawling half on top of Bucky and digging his knee into Bucky’s stomach.

“It’s me,” Steve gasped out. “Bucky, it’s me, you’re safe –“

There was no flash of recognition in Bucky’s eyes, but the look on his face was changing. The blankness was gone, and in its place was rage. Bucky grabbed Steve’s shield and swung it at Steve’s head. Steve ducked, but Bucky used the distraction to pull his legs up and kick Steve off him. Steve was knocked backward across the room into the wall. Bucky snarled, scrambling back up into a crouch. He jumped at Steve again, his face and eyes wild. Steve was climbing to his feet again when a dart appeared in the side of Bucky’s neck.

Bucky twisted to the side, slamming his back against the wall. He ripped the dart out of his neck, and threw it to the side. He jumped at Steve again, but Steve easily grabbed his shoulders and pushed him to the floor.

Natasha appeared out of nowhere. She kicked her bare foot into Bucky’s side and then dropped down onto his chest. He snarled and grabbed her hair with his right arm, yanking her head down.

She had another one of the darts in her hand, and she stabbed it into Bucky’s neck as he kicked her off of him. Steve finally noticed Clint standing in the doorway, with some kind of weird gun in his hands. He shot another dart at Bucky, this one stabbing into his shoulder.

Bucky howled as he struggled to get back to his feet. Natasha knocked him down again, pinning him down easily.

“Steve, help me out here?” she asked. Steve forced himself to his feet and stumbled over to them, placing his hands on Bucky’s shoulders.

“Don’t hurt him,” Steve said miserably as he and Natasha held Bucky down. Bucky was still twisting and writhing, trying to get away from them, but his eyes were rolling back in his head and his struggles grew weaker.

“I’m not,” Natasha said gently as Bucky quieted. His eyes closed, and his head thumped back against the floor. Natasha put her fingers against his neck, checking his pulse. “He’s fine,” she said.

Steve sat back against the wall, trying to slow his racing heart. He stared blankly at Bucky, who was now lying quietly on the floor.

“Well,” Clint started slowly. “That was, uh, exciting?”

Steve and Natasha looked at him. He winced. “Okay, maybe exciting wasn’t the right word.”

Steve leaned forward and picked the dart up off the floor. “What did you make this out of?” he asked.

Clint walked into the room and gently pulled the other darts out of Bucky’s neck and shoulder. “Been working on it for a while. It should knock him out for a few hours, at least, but it won’t hurt him.”

“Help me get him on the bed,” Steve said dully. He wrapped his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and hauled him up onto the bed, dragging him up so his head was on the pillow. Natasha grabbed Bucky’s legs and helped Steve settle him on the bed.

Something touched Steve’s shoulder, and he flinched away.

“Woah, sorry,” Clint said hurriedly. “But, uh, you’re bleeding really badly, Steve.”

Steve looked with surprise down at his shoulder. Sure enough, blood was pouring out of the jagged wound in his shoulder from Bucky’s knife, soaking his shirt. Steve barely even registered the pain.

“Oh,” Steve said distantly. “It’ll stop.” He looked down at Bucky again.

“Yeah, maybe, but how much blood are you going to lose before then?” Clint asked. Steve shrugged, then winced at the flash of pain from his shoulder.

“There’s a first-aid kit in the kitchen,” Natasha said gently. “Come on, Steve. Clint can keep an eye on him.”

“No,” Steve said stubbornly. “It’s fine. I’ll stay here.”

Steve heard Natasha sigh. She walked out of the room quietly.

“He’s going to be out for at least a few more hours, Steve,” Clint said. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep? I’ll come find you if he wakes up.”

“No,” Steve said again.

“Steve – “

“If it were Natasha, would you leave her and go get some sleep?” Steve said, more harshly than he meant to.

There was a pause. “No,” Clint said finally.

Steve gently moved Bucky’s head so he was more comfortably laid out on the pillow. “Well, then.”

Natasha walked back in the room then, carrying a first-aid kit. “Take this off,” she ordered, tugging at Steve’s shirt.

Steve shrugged his shirt over his head, barely noticing when Natasha poured iodine over the wound in his shoulder. He didn’t bother looking away from Bucky when she started stitching up the jagged cut.

Clint came back into the room just as Natasha finished. Steve hadn’t even noticed that he’d left, but Clint was now holding a steaming coffee cup. “I made coffee,” he said, holding the cup out to Steve.

“Thanks, Clint,” Steve said, accepting the cup. He sipped it slowly. Caffeine did nothing for him, but the familiar taste was comforting.

“Are you sure you – “ Natasha started. She didn’t say anything else, but Steve had a feeling that her and Clint were communicating behind his back.

“We’ll just be in the living room,” Natasha said finally. “If you need anything, or want one of us to sit with him instead, just ask, okay?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Thanks, guys. I’m sorry, we probably woke you up.”

“Nah,” Clint said easily. “Don’t worry about it. We’re used to it. Too used it, actually.”

Clint and Natasha left the room, quietly. Clint came back in a few minutes later and gave Steve a new shirt that somehow fit him. He left again, and Steve heard the two of them moving around the kitchen quietly. They were talking in a language that Steve didn’t understand, and he was too tired to even identify what it was.

Steve sat silently on the other side of the bed from Bucky. He watched him closely for any signs that he was waking up, but Bucky’s face was peaceful and his breathing was slow. He looked so calm like this. If Steve ignored Bucky’s messy hair, and the scar tissue from his metal arm that stretched up onto his neck, it was almost as if they were back in the 1940s. Just the two of them, safe in their terrible apartment in Brooklyn. The room was plain enough that it could have been from then.

Steve forced himself to stay awake by imagining that in a few hours, Bucky would wake up and start getting ready for work. Steve would make him eat some breakfast before he left, and then once he was gone, Steve too would head out to whatever temporary job he had at the time. They might go out later that night.

Sure enough, Bucky woke up exactly three hours later. Steve shook himself out of his reverie when he saw Bucky beginning to stir. He tensed, making sure that his shield was in arm’s reach.

But when Bucky opened his eyes, the malice and hate was gone. Bucky blinked slowly at him, frowning slightly.

“Steve?” he asked, his voice a little slurred.

“Yeah, it’s me, Buck,” Steve said, trying to keep the relief out of his voice.

“What’s…” Bucky started. It took him a moment to finish his sentence. “What’s going on?”

“You, uh…” Steve hesitated. He was saved from having to finish his sentence.

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky said, his eyes widening. He was staring at Steve’s shoulder, the bandage clearly visible under Steve’s shirt. “Steve…”

“It’s all right,” Steve said hurriedly. “I don’t think you were even properly awake, I think you were having some kind of flashback or something. It wasn’t you.”

“It was!” Bucky nearly shouted, pushing himself upright. “It was me, I remember doing it, I thought I…”

Bucky’s voice trailed off, and he didn’t speak again for a moment. He was still staring at Steve’s shoulder.

“You thought…” Steve prompted.

“We weren’t… we weren’t here,” Bucky said, gesturing around frantically. “I wasn’t… I thought…”

“It’s okay,” Steve said. Bucky laughed sharply.

“Look at your shoulder, Steve! I did that to you!”

“It’ll heal, Buck! It wasn’t you, you didn’t mean to do it.”

Bucky ran his right hand over his face. “It doesn’t matter, Steve. You don’t seem to get that! It doesn’t matter if I meant to do it or not, that doesn’t change the fact that I still did it. I hurt you, I could have killed you, and I’ve done it before! I’ll probably do it again, too.”

“Bucky, I don’t care!” Steve said frantically.

Bucky leaned his head back against the wall and stared at him. “But you should, Steve. You have no fucking regard for your own life, and you should. It isn’t safe for you to be around me. It’s not safe for anyone to be around me.”

Steve shook at him. “What do you want me to say, Buck? I’m not going anywhere, you’re not going anywhere.”

Bucky closed his eyes. “You’re not understanding.”

Steve ground his teeth. “I’m trying to understand, Bucky. I really am. I hear what you’re saying. But you’re not listening to me, either. I’m doing my best to help you, and I’m telling you that you’re going to get through this, all right? I don’t… I don’t know what else I can do. I’m trying, Buck.”

Bucky opened his eyes again, but he didn’t look at Steve. “I know, Steve. I know.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Steve didn’t know what else to say, and his shoulder really, really hurt.

“Steve?” Bucky asked finally. “Is… is it all right if I try and sleep for a little bit longer? You can lock the door or knock me out again, if you’re worried.”

“Bucky, no,” Steve said. “Of course you can sleep more. Look, I’ll shut the door but I’m not going to lock it.”

Bucky looked doubtful.

“Clint and Natasha are right out there,” Steve said. “I think between the three of us, we can handle you.”

Bucky looked skeptical. Steve stood up and went to the door.

“Well, goodnight,” Steve said awkwardly. Bucky waved his hand at him.

Steve shut the door softly and slowly went out to the living room. Clint was stretched out on one of the couches, asleep. Natasha was curled up in the armchair, a book in her lap.

“Hey,” she said softly as Steve sat down heavily on the other couch. “How’s he doing?”

Steve shrugged. “He wants to try and sleep a little more, so…”

Natasha nodded. “That’s good. You should try and get some more sleep, too.”

Steve tilted his head back against the back of the couch. “Yeah, maybe.”

“We’ll be right here, Steve,” she said. “I’ll wake you up if I hear anything.”

Steve thought he replied, but his eyes were already closing before he even finished his sentence.

 

 

The soft click of the coffee pot woke Steve up again. When he opened his eyes this time, the first rays of light were streaming through the small windows.

Steve sat up from where he’d been slumped on the couch.

“Morning,” Clint said from the kitchen. Natasha was nowhere to be found.

“Good morning,” Steve replied. Clint held another cup of coffee out to him.

“There’s cereal in the cupboard, except we don’t have any milk. Oh, and there’s bread.” Clint held up a load of bread from the counter. “Oh, wait, it’s moldy. Don’t eat that.”

Steve smiled and accepted the coffee. “All right, avoid the bread. Got it. Anything from Bucky?”

Clint shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “Nothing. Checked on him a while ago, he’s still asleep. Natasha’s out checking the perimeter sensors, by the way.”

“Maybe I should check on him,” Steve mused, staring down the hallway at Bucky’s closed door.

“Be careful,” Clint said over the top of his coffee mug.

Steve set his coffee on the counter and went down the hall. He knocked softly on the door. When there was no response, he opened it.

Bucky was curled up under the covers, his back to the door. The room was quiet, with sunlight starting to shine through the window.

Steve quietly closed the door again, trying not to disturb him. He started walking back down the hall when his heart started to pound. Steve froze, frowning. He couldn’t figure out why he was suddenly so worried. He stopped and turned back to stare at the door.

In all the time that Bucky had been back, Steve had never seen him put his back to the door. He always slept, sat, or stood in a place where he was least vulnerable to attack. Even before all this, when the two of them had lived in Brooklyn, Bucky had always slept stretched out on his back, arms and legs hanging off his too-small bed.

It was possible that he’d just rolled over in his sleep.

Steve sighed and walked back to the door, opening it again. Sure enough, Bucky hadn’t moved. He was still lying curled up under the covers.

“Bucky?” Steve said softly. There was no response. Steve walked carefully around the bed. “Bucky?”

“Steve? Everything all right?” Clint called from the kitchen.

Steve started to reply, but then he caught sight of the long nail clutched in Bucky’s metal hand and the blood that soaked Bucky’s shirt and the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's another cliffhanger I'M SORRY I'M SO SORRY. I honestly don't mean to do it, I just get really tired and stop writing for the night?!?!? And it happens to be at important points in the story I'M SORRY. It's definitely my fault for writing this at 3am every night. 
> 
> Anyway, if you read this far, I'm both amazed and grateful! thank you so much for reading, commenting, and sending me messages! I love you all.


	21. I bite my tongue and I torch my dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Candles," by Daughter. 
> 
> Please read the tags before you read this chapter! If you feel like you might be triggered by one of them, please be really really careful reading this! 
> 
> Also, thank you guys so much for the messages and comments, they absolutely make my day

“Clint!” Steve shouted as he ripped the blankets away from Bucky. They were soaked through with blood. Bucky had his right arm pressed to his stomach.

Steve grabbed Bucky’s arm and pulled it away from his body. There was a long gash down the entire length of Bucky’s forearm. There was so much blood covering Bucky’s arm that Steve couldn’t even tell how deep it was.

“Bucky!” Steve shouted. He grabbed Bucky’s face and twisted his head off the pillow. “Bucky, wake up. Don’t do this to me again!”

Bucky’s face was pale, and he didn’t move at all.

Clint burst through the door, skidding to a halt when he saw Bucky.

“Fuck,” Clint said. He jumped onto the other side of Bucky’s bed. Clint grabbed Bucky’s arm away from Steve, examining it quickly. “Is he breathing?”

“I think so,” Steve said. He felt for Bucky’s pulse, but Steve’s hands felt so cold and numb that it was hard to tell.

“Okay, okay,” Clint said, more to himself than to Steve. He scrambled off the bed again and grabbed the towels off the dresser. He threw them to Steve.

“Put as much pressure on that as you can,” Clint ordered, quickly pressing a few of the towels to Bucky’s arm. Steve wordlessly took over for him, pushing the towels against the cut on Bucky’s arm and pressing down.

Clint pulled a small, rectangular box out of his pocket and pressed a button on it. It actually looked a little similar to a garage opener. Steve didn’t care enough to ask what it was.

Steve knelt over Bucky, trying to keep as much pressure on his arm as he could. The new towels were already soaking through with blood.

“Is that all he did?” Clint asked, pulling more of the blood soaked sheets away from Bucky.

“Yeah, I think so,” Steve said. His chest felt so tight that even taking a breath was difficult, but he forced himself to answer Clint. “He has a nail in his other hand, he must have pulled it out of the floor or something.”

Clint was quickly checking over Bucky’s body for more injuries. Finding none, he pried the nail out of Bucky’s grasp and tossed it aside.

Steve heard the front door fly open, and Natasha’s familiar footsteps ran down the hall. “Clint?” she called. “What’s – “

She froze in the doorway for a second, her eyes wide. Then she quickly said a few words in Russian and disappeared back out into the hallway.

Steve knelt beside Bucky on the bed, watching Bucky’s blood flow smoothly. He obsessively counted Bucky’s breaths, watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest. Steve tried to force himself to think, to do something productive, but the only thing running through his mind was the words ‘ _not again’_ , over and over.

Clint was pulling more blankets out of one of the dresser drawers. He brought them over to the bed, tossing them next to Steve.

“I need to get these on him,” Clint ordered. Steve numbly moved out of his way, still keeping the pressure on Bucky’s arm. Clint quickly covered most of Bucky’s body with the blankets, keeping his arm free.

Natasha ran back into the room. She had the first aid kit under one arm, more towels under the other, and a bowl of water in her hands. She set the bowl of water on the bedside table, and dropped the first aid kit and towels on the bed.

Clint moved out of her way as she moved next to Steve. “Show me,” she demanded.

Steve peeled the towels away from Bucky’s arm. “I think it’s slowing,” he said desperately. He didn’t know if it actually was, or if he just wanted that to be true.

Clint and Natasha were talking rapidly to each other, but there was a loud roaring in Steve’s ears. He stared down at Bucky’s face, which had turned an awful grey colour. His mind was being ripped back and forth between past and present. One of his memories kept jumping back into his mind, of Bucky’s mother yelling at Steve as he and Bucky ran out the door.

“Don’t you go getting my boy into trouble, Steve Rogers!” she’d yelled after him as Steve and Bucky ran down the street, laughing. How old had they been then? Ten? Eleven? Steve didn’t know. Bucky’s face had been so bright, then. Had it been summer? It must have been, because Steve remembered that day being too hot. It – “

“Steve,” Natasha said again. Steve looked at her, his eyes glazed. “Steve, look, it’s slowing.” She lifted the towels to show him. At some point she’d replaced the blood-soaked towels Steve was holding with fresh ones. “His body is already healing itself.”

“Okay,” Steve said. That probably wasn’t the proper response, but Natasha didn’t seem to care. Steve went back to watching Bucky breathe. Clint had soaked a towel in the bowl of water that Natasha had brought, and he handed it to her. She gently washed the worst of the blood away from the cut on Bucky’s arm.

 It looked almost worse like this. It went all the way from Bucky’s palm to his elbow, and it looked like Bucky had even tried to keep going. Natasha was right, though. The wound had already started to clot over.

“I’m going to try and sew it up,” Natasha told Steve. “Normally we’d need to wait a little longer, but he’s healing more quickly than a normal human. Not as fast as you, but it’s still quick. His body is in overdrive trying to protect itself.”

“Okay,” Steve said again. His voice didn’t sound right. He didn’t care. His mind zoned out again as Natasha worked on Bucky’s arm.

By the time she finished, Bucky’s breathing was already getting stronger. The colour hadn’t returned to his face, but at least his heart rate wasn’t as slow.

“Here,” Clint said. Steve looked at him blankly. Clint was holding a bottle of water out to him.

“Drink it,” Clint said. Steve frowned. He was fine, why was Clint offering it to him?”

“Steve,” Clint said again. “Drink it.”

Steve did. He sipped the water slowly, and found that his hands were shaking badly. He quickly screwed the cap back on the bottle.

Natasha and Clint were still working. Natasha was wrapping a thick bandage around Bucky’s arm. Clint was cleaning up. Steve felt like he should probably help, but he didn’t move. He just sat next to Bucky on the bed, staring at him.

Things got more blurry after that. He knew Natasha and Clint were talking, but it wasn’t important, and so Steve didn’t try to listen over the roaring in his ears. He kept having to push back his memories, which were wrapping around him like a blanket. Warm memories, from times when he didn’t spend every waking moment waiting for the next catastrophic thing to happen. Was this what Bucky felt like all the time? Jumping back and forth between past and present? Struggling to remember what was actually happening and what had already happened?

Someone must have put an actual blanket on him at one point, because when he dragged himself back to the present, there was one wrapped around his shoulders. The room was clean, and smelled vaguely of cleaning supplies. There were even fresh sheets and blankets on the bed. Had Steve gotten off the bed at some point so they could do that? He must have.

They’d cleaned the worst of the blood off of Bucky’s face, and changed his clothes. Steve didn’t remember that either. This was confusing.

Bucky was still pale, but some of the colour had started to return to his face. He still showed no signs of waking up.

At some point, Clint came in and tried to make Steve eat something. Steve thought he refused, but it was also possible that he had just ignored Clint completely. Either way, Clint left again.

When Steve became aware of his surroundings the next time, Natasha was curled up on the bed next to him. He wordlessly wrapped his arm around her, and she put her arms around his waist.

A few hours after that, Bucky woke up. Natasha and Clint were out in the kitchen. Steve had, at some point, moved to sit up next to Bucky on the bed. His back was against the wall, and Steve’s hands were folded uselessly in his lap.

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, and slowly opened his eyes. He stared blurrily at Steve for a moment.

“Steve?” he asked. His voice was hoarse and weak.

Steve looked tiredly at him. “Yeah, it’s me,” he said. He idly wondered how many times he’d said that since Bucky had been back.

Bucky stared at him for another long moment, his eyes half closed.

“M’ sorry, Steve,” he mumbled and closed his eyes again. Bucky rolled over so his head was pressed lightly against Steve’s side, and fell asleep again.

Steve stared down at him. The sound of Bucky’s soft breathing was familiar to Steve in a way that nothing else was. He’d spent his childhood listening to Bucky’s heartbeat next to his. Even in the darkest parts of the war, Bucky had been there with him.

Bucky’s breathing was strong and consistent now, but Steve kept counting his breaths anyway. He felt his eyes growing heavy. Bucky wouldn’t do anything with Steve right beside him like this. He’d be safe.

Steve felt himself slump down a little, his eyes closing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much for the messages and comments, it means so much to me. And if you're still reading this far in, thank you for that too!


	22. Things cannot be reversed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Candles", by Daughter (again).

BUCKY

 

Someone was saying his name, which was annoying, because he was very, very tired and just wanted to sleep. If he just went back to sleep, maybe the person would stop talking. He didn’t bother to open his eyes, and drifted off again into the darkness.

 

Some time later, Bucky was woken up again. This time someone was gently shaking his shoulder and saying his name. Bucky ignored them and turned over, burying his face in the pillow. Everything was soft and warm and comfortable and he was very tired.

“Maybe we should just let him sleep a little more,” Steve’s voice was saying. Bucky relaxed. If Steve was there, everything would be fine. Steve would handle it. Bucky could keep sleeping.

“He needs to eat, Steve. He has to get some of his strength back if he’s going to keep healing at this rate.”

Someone (Steve?) sighed. 

“Bucky,” Steve’s voice said. “Bucky, you gotta wake up, just for a little while.”

Bucky ignored him and burrowed deeper into the pillows. Someone shook his shoulder gently.

“Go away, Steve,” Bucky mumbled. “Wanna sleep.”

Steve said something else, but Bucky was already slipping back down. He was very comfortable. The soft murmur of voices didn’t bother him.

At least, it didn’t bother him until someone snapped at him. “Bucky, wake up.”

The voice was cold and authoritative, and Bucky snapped awake much harder than he would have liked. His eyes snapped open against his will, and he tried to push himself up. Neither of his arms responded properly, though, and he immediately fell back onto the pillows. He tried again, this time just using his core muscles to sit up, but his body was disturbingly weak.

Steve was sitting beside him, and Bucky felt Steve’s arms grab him and hold him up. Steve was frowning disapprovingly at Natasha.

She shrugged. “He needed to wake up.”

Bucky’s heart was racing, and his head spun. Where was he? Why was everyone trying to make him eat? Steve had promised him that he wouldn’t make Bucky do anything he –

Bucky stared down at his right arm, and finally figured out what was going on. Now that he was staring at the bandage wrapped all the way around his arm, he finally noticed the pain.

Well, this would explain why he was too weak to even hold his head up properly.

Bucky experimentally tried to wiggle his fingers. They moved, slightly, but not without sending jolts of pain up into Bucky’s brain. Whatever. His arms had done their share of destruction and murder. Everyone would be better off if they didn’t work properly. Bucky was morbidly pleased to see he’d done a great job of slicing through the tendons, especially because he hadn’t had anything to use except a nail he’d pried out of a floorboard.

He’d have gone for the artery in his neck, but it would be too noisy. He’d tried that before, sometime. He didn’t remember when. You made an awful gurgling sound when you did that. Steve would have heard. The arm was the best choice, but apparently he hadn’t done a very good job of it, seeing as he was still here. Jesus, he was a terrible assassin. Why had anyone bothered to keep him alive all this time?

“Bucky, it’s okay. Natasha was just trying to wake you up, that’s all,” Steve said worriedly. It wasn’t until Bucky looked at him that he realized how badly his heart was racing, and he was still struggling to sit upright.

“Drink this,” Natasha ordered. She held out a glass to him. Bucky tried to reach out with his right arm to take it, but quickly found that he couldn’t make his hand work properly. This, in a twisted way, made Bucky happy. He couldn’t hurt anyone with that arm if he couldn’t even hold a glass with it.

Bucky tried to use his left arm instead, but that hand wouldn’t close properly either. The effort of lifting that arm made his head spin, and he felt his eyes start to roll back into his head.

“Stay awake,” Natasha ordered. Bucky struggled to force his eyes open again.

Natasha climbed onto the bed next to him. “Hold him up,” she ordered to Steve. She lifted the glass to his mouth, and he drank from it obediently. The taste took him by surprise. It was… orange juice? At least he thought it was. He couldn’t be sure.

Once he’d drained the glass, he could feel his eyes drifting shut again. He was so sleepy. And cold, too. Why was it so cold in here? Bucky didn’t like the cold.

“You’re almost done,” he heard Steve say. “Come on, Buck, just eat this and you can go back to sleep.”

Steve sounded upset, and Bucky didn’t like hearing Steve upset, so he tried to open his eyes again. He forced himself to eat whatever it was that Natasha shoved into his mouth. This didn’t taste as good as the orange juice. It was actually very similar to what Hydra used to feed him. Some kind of weird energy bar that tasted like nothing and turned to mush in your mouth.

Bucky twisted his head away from Natasha, pushing himself backward as best he could. “No,” he mumbled frantically.

“Okay, okay,” Steve said. “Nat, is that enough?”

“For now,” Natasha said. “He’ll have to have more later, but for now – “

Bucky didn’t hear the rest of what she said, because the darkness was already swallowing him up again. Bucky let it pull him down gladly.

 

The next time he woke up, they made him eat and drink more. He mostly ignored what everyone was saying, because he didn’t care, and just ate what was in front of him. When he finished eating, he immediately let himself fall backward again. He was pretty sure Natasha was trying to make him move his hand so they could see how bad the damage was, but it hurt and he was tired. He ignored Natasha’s orders this time, curling up against Steve and falling back asleep.

 

The third time he woke up, Steve was asleep next to him. Steve was slumped down on the bed next to him, with his back still against the wall and his neck at an uncomfortable angle. He was definitely deeply asleep, with his breathing slow and regular.

Natasha was sitting at the end of the bed, watching him. He stared blearily at her.

When she noticed he was awake, she stood up and moved silently over to his side of the bed. She grabbed his arm and started peeling the bandages off it. He was too tired and weak to do anything about it, so he just ignored the pain radiating from his arm as best he could.

“This stops. Now,” she said quietly while she worked. Bucky stared sleepily at her, but she grabbed his face with her other hand and made him look at her.

“You’re hurting him,” she said, gesturing with her chin at Steve. Steve slept on, oblivious.

“I know,” Bucky said dully.

Natasha fixed her cold glare on him, but her hands never faltered as she worked on Bucky’s arm. “Then you need to make a choice. Now. You either stay with Steve, and you turn this around. Or you leave.”

Bucky laughed weakly. “I already tried to make that choice, Natalia.” He pulled his arm out of her hands a little. “I’m pretty sure this is your handiwork,” he said, gesturing to the stitches with his left hand.

Natasha grabbed his arm back. “Yes, well, I wasn’t going to let you die in front of Steve,” she muttered.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. He’d get over it. It’s better this way, Natalia.”

Natasha tugged on one of his stitches a little harder than necessary. “Fuck you. He wouldn’t get over it, you know that.”

“He should,” Bucky muttered sulkily. He was aware he sounded like a child. “He was doing fine until I showed back up.”

“Oh yeah, he was doing great,” Natasha said, the sarcasm heavy in her words. “You didn’t see him. You weren’t there. And let me tell you, he was not doing ‘great’. Did you forget the part where he dropped his fucking shield and let you nearly kill him on that fucking helicarrier?”

“Exactly,” Bucky insisted while Natasha started wrapping new bandages around his arm. “If I hadn’t been there – “

“But you were,” Natasha said coldly. “And he went on that helicarrier planning on either bringing you back with him, or dying. No matter what else he claims.”

Bucky closed his eyes.

“He has it bad enough as it is,” Natasha said, a little more gently. “You can help, I think. But not like this. This is destroying him.”

Bucky opened his eyes again. They were blurry.

“I’m not trying to,” he said hoarsely. His head was starting to spin again.

There was a pause before Natasha spoke. “I know,” she said slowly. “I know. But you are.”

There was silence for a moment while she finished changing the bandages.

“How do you do it?” Bucky asked. His throat was gritty and painful, and he closed his eyes. He felt Natasha wrap her hand around his, gently.

“What’s done is done,” she said finally. “You can’t change what’s happened. It is what it is, no matter how horrible.”

Her grip on his hand tightened.

“But you choose what happens next. It’s up to you. And you can either kill yourself now, or you can keep going. The past will never go away, and it will never change. But you have time left in your life, and if you choose, you can use that time to do something good.”

Her hand slipped out of Bucky’s, and he heard her start to gather up the medical supplies. Then, something cold and small was pressed into his hand.

He opened up his hand to find that she’d given him a small knife. It was sharp. Deadly. Much more effective than the nail he’d used before. Bucky looked up at her.

To his surprise, she looked like she was trying not to cry.

“You’re strong enough to stay,” Natasha said slowly. “You survived seventy years with them. You can survive a few more here. If you choose to, you can do this.”

She finished gathering up the supplies and walked over to the door. Her hand on the doorknob, she turned and looked at him.

“Please stay,” she said finally. Then she disappeared through the door.

Bucky looked at the knife in his hand. It glinted in the last rays of sunlight coming through the window. He listened to the sound of Steve breathing beside him. It was comforting.

Bucky watched the light play off the blade. He liked the sun. He’d spend a lot of time without it.

He closed his eyes again. The bed was comfortable, and Steve was warm beside him. Bucky was still freezing, and he felt himself pressing as close to Steve as he could get. He’d missed feeling warm. He liked warmth.

He lay like that for a few minutes. The sun gradually began to bathe his face in warmth. He heard the sound of Clint laughing quietly from the kitchen, and Natasha’s voice murmuring in response. Steve’s breathing was slow and rhythmic next to him.

Bucky opened his eyes. He experimentally ran the knife over his collarbone with his left hand, lightly enough that it didn’t even leave a mark. If he really tried, he could get it through his neck before Steve woke up. They were too far from proper medical care to save him.

Steve would be very upset, though. Bucky didn’t like upsetting Steve.

Plus, if he did that, Bucky would never get the chance to tell Hydra to go fuck themselves.

He took the knife away from his neck.

 

When Natasha walked back in a while later to bring Bucky and Steve dinner, Bucky grabbed her hand as she turned to go. He pressed the knife into her hand, folding her fingers gently around it. Steve didn’t notice.

She didn’t say anything, just turned and left the room, but Bucky was pretty sure she’d smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for everything! I'd be surprised if anyone was still reading this far in, considering how long this is, but if you are then thank you!


	23. They don't have a hope in hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Master Hunter", by Laura Marling. 
> 
> Thank you so so much for the comments and messages!!! They are my lifeblood

BUCKY

It took four days before Bucky was strong enough to walk around by himself. Steve still hovered around him whenever he even walked down the hall to the kitchen, but at least Bucky didn’t have to lean on him for support anymore.

Steve was also happy with how quickly Bucky’s right arm was healing. The wound had already closed. Although the thick scar tissue remained, Bucky was rapidly regaining the strength in his hand and arm.

Bucky was less happy about it. He’d hated needing help to eat, like a child. He’d also hated the weird feeling of vulnerability, now that he no longer had two deadly hands. But he loved not feeling like he was going to snap and hurt someone at any moment. He could still easily kill someone without his hands, of course, but he was much less deadly like this.

He didn’t say anything about it, though. He let Steve and Natasha work on his arm, testing his reflexes and making him do all sorts of exercises with his hands. Within a few days, he’d already regained most of the strength in his right hand.

There was nothing they could do about his left hand. That was something that would have to wait. They didn’t have the tools or expertise to do the kind of maintenance that Bucky’s right arm required.

It didn’t escape Bucky’s notice that all the weapons in the house disappeared while he was stuck in bed. He checked the kitchen the first chance he got, and found that all the utensils (including the knives) were gone. He checked the rest of the house as subtly as he could, but Clint and Natasha had hid their weapons well. Bucky wanted to ask for his knife back, at least, but he knew that there was no chance of them giving it to him.

Bucky was not allowed in the kitchen while the others were cooking. When someone brought him a plate of food to eat, they would give him a fork or spoon, and then take it back from him when he was finished. He wasn’t allowed to help with the dishes, either.

This meant that Bucky spent a lot of time sitting on the couch in the living room, frowning. He didn’t mean to be sullen, but his head hurt and his arm hurt. The arm was his own fault, of course, but that didn’t stop him from feeling irritable from the pain.

Despite the pain, Bucky liked it there. He liked the quiet of the forest around them, and the predictability of his days. He was allowed to sleep for however long he liked. Then he would spend most of his day sitting on the couch, watching the others as they moved around him.

Sometimes he would sit on the porch with Clint, in the afternoon. They wouldn’t talk much, but Clint would occasionally let Bucky help him work on his arrows. Bucky knew better than to try and sneak one of the tools into his pocket. The one time he closed his hand over the sharp knife he was working with and casually went to slip it into his clothes, Clint leaned over and tapped his arm once. Bucky had been sure that Clint hadn’t been watching him. Bucky sighed and put the knife back on the table. That was the only time he tried.

Sometimes Natasha would drag him outside, where she’d set up various targets in the forest. The two of them would practice throwing knives at the targets. Steve had protested the first time, when he saw Natasha hand Bucky a knife. She’d pulled Steve aside and talked to him in a low voice for a minute, and Steve had grumpily allowed them to continue. She took the knives back after they were done, anyway. Natasha beat him in every round for the first few days, when his arm was still weak and the muscles refused to cooperate. As he grew stronger again, they became more evenly matched. Sometimes Clint and Steve would come and watch from the sidelines, cheering obnoxiously whenever Bucky hit the target.

He spent the rest of his time inside. He spent a lot of time watching dvds that were stocked on a little bookshelf in the living room. Steve would sit next to him, reading history textbooks that Clint and Natasha had produced from somewhere. Sometimes Bucky would read over his shoulder, trying to fill in the gaps in his own memory. Bucky had less interest in the medical books that Steve read. Steve was fascinated with modern medicine, and would enthusiastically point out to Bucky what had changed since they were kids. Bucky had had enough modern medicine for one lifetime, and he preferred it when Steve read the history books.

After dinner, the four of them would usually play a card game, given that there wasn’t much else to do around the cabin. Natasha always won the poker games, but Clint was better at the faster games. Bucky liked the card games a lot. They were predictable, and everyone smiled and laughed while playing. Besides, it was nice to do an activity that wasn’t about murder. Well, actually, Bucky knew how to murder someone with a playing card (he’d done it before), but still.

They spent four weeks there like that. Bucky’s arm healed almost completed. He still had some stiffness and pain from it, but it was functional again.

There were some days where he didn’t bother to get out of bed in the morning. He spent most nights in the company of his nightmares, which meant he got very little restful sleep at all. It was easier to sleep during the day. When he woke up gasping for air, biting down on his hands to keep from screaming, the sun shining through the window would remind him where he was. He could hear Steve talking to Natasha in the kitchen, and Clint walking in the forest outside. He’d listen for a while, until his heart slowed and he could breathe. He’d drift off to sleep again, getting another hour of sleep before he woke up again.

He tried to exercise some days, but every time he tried, his head would spin. One time he tried doing push-ups, which led to him passing out and smacking his face on the floor. After that, Steve insisted that he not do push-ups until he could prove he’d gotten enough of his strength back. He tried to eat as much as he could and sleep as much as possible, but he still spent a lot of time on the couch.

His days had a peaceful rhythm.

He liked that peaceful rhythm, which is why he was so annoyed when he took a bite of the chili they were eating for dinner. He wasn’t paying much attention to what he was eating, which is why it wasn’t until his second bite that he realized what was wrong.

Bucky dropped his spoon back into the bowl. Clint, Natasha, and Steve all turned to stare at him.

“Don’t eat it,” he said quickly.

“Bucky, what is it?“ Steve asked. He’d already eaten most of his chili, and was frowning at Bucky.

Clint and Natasha apparently caught on quicker than Steve, because both of them immediately dropped their spoons. Clint spat out the mouthful of chili he’d been eating, and Natasha started to get to her feet.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked again.

“Fuck,” Clint said as he tried to get to his feet. He immediately fell back into his chair.

“Clint,” Natasha said sharply. “Don’t –“

Clint’s eyes were already closing, and he slumped down in his chair.

Natasha’s eyes were fluttering too, but she grabbed Bucky’s arm as he started to stand.

“Upstairs, second door on the right,” she said, her voice slurring on the last words.

“Okay,” Bucky said, and then caught her as she collapsed.

“Bucky, what the hell is happening?” Steve demanded. He was staring at Clint and Natasha with wide eyes.

“Stay there,” Bucky ordered as he ran for the stairs. Steve ignored him and got up from the table, heading towards the hallway. He was probably trying to get his shield, but he fell to his knees before he got halfway there.

Bucky found the door that Natasha had described. It was locked, but it gave way easily enough when Bucky kicked it open.

Natasha and Clint had an extensive collection of weapons stored in that room. Bucky didn’t have time to pick and choose, so he just grabbed what he could.

By the time he made it downstairs again, Steve was staggering back to his feet.

“Bucky, what – “ Steve asked again, his words slurring.

“Steve, sit down,” Bucky ordered, exasperated. He darted down the hall and grabbed Steve’s shield. Running back into the living room, he tossed it to Steve. Steve caught it, and promptly fell on the floor again.

“Bucky,” Steve mumbled, his face half pressed into the carpet. Bucky was impressed that he was still awake, actually. That particular poison should have been strong enough to take even Steve down, but he was still struggling to stay conscious.

“Shh,” Bucky whispered to him. He surveyed the room quickly. Clint was slumped on the table, and Natasha was lying curled on the floor. Both of them were deeply under. Steve was lying on the floor in easy sight of the front door.

Bucky quickly turned the lights off. He glanced at Steve again, who was watching him with half closed eyes.

“It’s not deadly,” Bucky whispered to him. “Don’t worry.”

He wasn’t sure if Steve replied, because Bucky was already climbing the stairs. He lay down on his stomach on the carpet at the top of the stairs, now shrouded in darkness. He let his messy hair fall down over his face, making him virtually invisible in the darkness. He waited patiently.

Sure enough, about ten minutes later, he heard the footsteps approaching the front door, and the familiar sound of glass shattering at the back of the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's another cliffhanger, I'm sorry I'M SO SORRY


	24. You're gonna get back on your feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Battle Born," by The Killers. 
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments and messages, I love all of you! 
> 
> I have a busy next few days, so I might not be able to update as often as I have been. I'll try though! 
> 
> Also, this chapter has some violence in it (just in case you're uncomfortable with that).

The door burst open a moment later, and they entered. Bucky was relieved to see that they were human. He was good at killing humans.

It was difficult to tell who they were working for. They were speaking English to each other, and they were clearly a professional group. They were outfitted in the latest weaponry, and moved in tight formations.

“Got her,” one of them said, bending over Natasha. So they were after Natasha, not Bucky. Interesting. That narrowed it down a little.

“How many others?”

“Just two.”

“There’s supposed to be four. Keep an eye out.”

The first man who moved up the stairs didn’t see Bucky at all. Bucky let him get all the way to the top of the stairs before he pulled the man’s legs out from under him. The man didn’t have time to scream before Bucky slit his throat.

The second man came up the stairs a moment later. He didn’t see Bucky until he tripped over the fallen body of the other man. This one didn’t have time to scream either.

The third man, who had lagged behind the other two a little, noticed. He was only halfway up the stairs when he saw, and he had time to shout before Bucky shot him. Giving up all attempts at subtly, Bucky jumped halfway down the stairs. The dead man fell before him, knocking another man down at the bottom of the stairs.

There were fourteen of them in the house. Bucky took out five from his place on the stairs, and then jumped over the railing to take out four more. Two people came running down the hallway at the sound of the gunshots. Bucky shot them without looking, as his attention was on the remaining men standing in the living room.

“Shit, it’s him, it’s him,” their leader was saying frantically. He was wearing a very fancy microphone and earpiece, which Bucky didn’t like. He didn’t want anyone knowing where he was. So Bucky took him out first.

He finished with the others. It wasn't hard.

There were more of them waiting outside, but only half of them stayed to try and shoot Bucky. He knocked the bullets away with his metal arm, annoyed. He only needed one shot for each of them, and the remaining men broke and ran. Bucky followed them through the trees silently, picking them off one by one.

When he was satisfied that they were all taken care of, he stood in the shadows of the porch and waited. No more came.

He picked up the earpiece of one of the fallen men and placed it in his ear. There was frantic shouting at the other end, but Bucky finally managed to pick up that reinforcements were at least a few hours away. They’d thought that their current team would have been enough.

Bucky dropped the earpiece to the floor and went back inside. He wasn’t sure if Natasha and Clint kept a vehicle nearby, but they were too far under to tell him.

“Bucky?” Steve moaned from the floor. Good, he was awake.

“Steve?” Bucky called as he lifted Natasha gently off the floor. “Can you get up?”

“Yes,” Steve mumbled behind him. He was already climbing unsteadily to his feet.

“Can you walk?”

“Yes,” Steve said again, but with a little less confidence.

“You’re going to have to,” Bucky said. He held Natasha over his shoulder easily enough, but Clint was heavier. He didn’t have time to bring Natasha to the car and come back and get Clint.

Bucky sighed and went around the table to where Clint was lying. He wrapped his left arm around Clint’s chest, under his arm, and pulled him off the table.

“We need to go, Steve,” Bucky said as he dragged Clint towards the door. “You need to walk.”

Steve was swaying on his feet, his eyes half closed, but he stumbled after Bucky.

“I can carry Natasha,” Steve mumbled as they started walking through the forest. He promptly tripped on a tree root and fell on his face.

“I’ve got them,” Bucky said, trying to keep the strain out of his voice. They were very heavy, even though he was basically dragging Clint behind him as he walked.

Steve climbed to his feet again. Bucky was pretty sure it was just willpower keeping Steve walking at this point.

“What was that?” Steve said, when they’d been walking for a while.

“I don’t know the name of it in English,” Bucky said. “But it’s a poison. It’s not fatal. It’s designed to put the victim into a deep sleep for at least eight hours.”

“How come it didn’t work on you?” Steve said, his voice badly slurred.

“My body is resistant to it,” Bucky said, as he shifted Natasha’s weight on his shoulder.

“Why?” Steve asked. At least, that’s what Bucky thought he said. His words were very unintelligible at this point.

“I was made to build up a tolerance to it,” Bucky said shortly. He didn’t add the part about how it had taken weeks of being fed the poison, falling asleep, and then being woken up by jolts of electricity. It had taken three weeks until his body had built up a sufficient tolerance to the poison.

“Oh,” Steve mumbled.

It took them a surprisingly short amount of time to get back to the car. It was still where they had left it.

Bucky dropped Clint unceremoniously on the ground next to the car, and put Natasha down next to him, a little more gently. Steve was bracing himself on the hood of the car, his eyes closed.

“You brought the keys, right?” Steve asked. Bucky answered by unlocking the car.

The car was definitely not designed to fit four large adults, but Bucky did the best he could. He shoved Clint and Natasha as gently as possible. Steve was still leaning on the car’s hood, and Bucky gently took his shield from him and tossed it in the backseat with Clint and Natasha.

Bucky unlocked the passenger’s side door. Steve moved to try and get in, and collapsed on the ground again.

Bucky poked him with his foot. Steve was out cold.

He sighed and dragged Steve into the car. Steve was so fucking heavy.

By the time Bucky got in and started the car, he was shaking with exhaustion. His head was spinning, but there was no time for him to catch his breath. They were already cutting it close.

Bucky got the car turned around on the narrow road, and sped down it. He was going much faster than Steve would have approved of, had he been awake.

His first priority was to get clear of this area. They made it out of the forest with no problems, pulling onto the highway easily. However, Bucky knew that whoever was following them also probably knew that this was the only major highway in the area. They’d be monitoring it closely, not to mention that they’d probably have to take this highway to get to the cabin themselves.

And that was why Bucky ended taking an exit off the highway into a small town. He pulled into a busy shopping mall, nearly hitting a bunch of other cars in the process. He finally managed to pull the car into a small parking spot around the back of the mall.

“Told you you’re a terrible driver,” Steve mumbled. He was still slumped against the passenger side door.

“This car isn’t easy to park!” Bucky protested as he turned the car off.

“Car’s very easy to park. You just can’t park it.”

“You try parking a car with this arm,” Bucky said, waving his left arm at Steve’s face. “They didn’t really design it for parking cars.”

Steve just grunted without opening his eyes.

The car was quiet for a few minutes, while Bucky carefully watched the parking lot around them to see if they’d been followed.

“Steve?” Bucky said finally.

“What?” Steve mumbled. He sounded grumpy.

“Do you have any cash?”

Steve reached forward and tried to open the glove compartment. He still hadn’t opened his eyes, though, and he ended up swatting uselessly at the handle.

Bucky signed and leaned over him, tugging the glove compartment open. Sure enough, there was a small stack of cash piled on top of a bunch of maps.

Bucky took the whole pile of cash and snapped the glove compartment closed.

“Steve?” he said. When Steve didn’t reply, Bucky poked his arm gently. “Steve.”

“What?” Steve mumbled, his head slipping further down onto his chest.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

“No, no, I’ll come,” Steve said without moving. Bucky ignored him and got out of the car, locking it behind him. He made sure that all three of them were still asleep in the car before he walked away.

It only took Bucky a minute to walk to the McDonalds, but by the time he got to the front doors, he was already twitching away from the people walking by him. The noises from the parking lot made him flinch as well.

The hood on his sweater was covering his hair and most of his face, and he had a feeling that he probably looked pretty intimidating. He didn’t have to go too far out of his way to avoid people, because they didn’t seem to want to go anywhere near him. A group of girls jumped out of his way, and a father swept a toddler up into his arms when the child walked in front of Bucky.

By the time he pushed the door open and went in, he was already shaking.

He ordered the first things he saw on the menu, making sure to keep his left hand in his pocket at all times. The young cashier was staring at him worriedly, but she seemed to relax a little when he put the money on the counter. She carefully gave him his change, and he stepped back against the wall to wait.

The employee who handed him his food gave him a wary look, but Bucky ignored him and snatched the bags out of his hands. He forced himself to walk back to the car, rather than run, but he was trembling badly by the time he unlocked the door and got in.

“You’re back,” Steve said, sounding pleased. He smiled weakly at Bucky, still leaning his head against the car window.

“Course I am,” Bucky muttered. He tossed one of the bags of food onto Steve’s lap, and set the others in the backseat between Clint and Natasha. They were both still out cold.

“What’d you get?” Steve asked, unsuccessfully trying to open the paper bag. Bucky grabbed it back from him and opened it, tossing it back at him.

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, scanning the parking lot again. “Pointed at the first things I saw.”

“You got fries!” Steve said happily. “Have you tried the fries?”

“No,” Bucky said. He was trying to plan out a better route than the main highway. He had all the main highway routes in the US memorized, of course, but he didn’t know as much about the back roads. He could probably navigate using the highways as reference.

“Try the fries,” Steve said. He held out the cardboard box to Bucky.

“No,” Bucky said again. “I’m not hungry. I got those for you. It’ll help soak up some of that poison.”

“Try the fries, Bucky.”

“Steve, I’m not going to try the fucking fries. I have to drive.”

“Your ability to drive is not going to be affected by eating a fry. You’re a bad driver anyway. Who knows, the fry might help.”

Bucky turned to fix Steve with a cold glare, but Steve was grinning at him happily. Steve was still slumped against the window and his eyes weren’t all the way open, but that ridiculous smile made Bucky want to smile in return.

“If I try the fries, will you shut up and go back to sleep?” Bucky asked.

“Yes.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and grabbed a handful of the fries out of the box. He ate them sullenly, but he had to admit that they were good. Really good.

“Well?” Steve asked eagerly.

“All right, they’re okay,” Bucky muttered as he started the car. “Finish eating.”

Steve laughed to himself and pointedly set the fries in the center console between them. Steve grabbed a couple of hamburgers out of the bag and somehow managed to eat them all before Bucky even managed to get out of the parking lot. Although that might have been because it took Bucky a really, really long time to get out of the parking lot. It wasn’t his fault that there were so many cars and people everywhere.

By the time they had left the shopping mall and were driving down a quiet back road, Steve had finished off his hamburgers and fallen asleep again.

Bucky made sure that Steve was well and truly asleep before he quickly ate the rest of the fries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still reading this far in, I love you and you're amazing. Again, thanks so much for the messages and comments. I know I say that a lot, but it really does mean so much to me.


	25. Those summer nights seem long ago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Old Money", by Lana Del Rey. 
> 
> Hey guys! I managed to find time to upload this today, thankfully. I didn't have any time to edit it, so please forgive me for any grammar or spelling mistakes! Again, I'm travelling a lot in the next few days so I might not be able to post anything tomorrow. On the other hand, depending on how long I get stuck at the airport/on the bus for, I might get a lot of writing done. Who knows.

BUCKY

 

The drive took a long time, mostly because they had to stay off the main highways and on the back roads. It was slow going, and the scenery was not particularly interesting. No one followed them, though, and they drove through the countryside with few interruptions.

Steve woke up for good a few hours later. He sat up and rubbed his hands over his face, yawning.

“Where are we?” he asked, his voice rusty.

“This road doesn’t have a name,” Bucky replied. “It’s not even on any of the maps.

“Oh,” Steve said. “Well, where are we going then?”

“Back to New York,” Bucky said. “Or we could go somewhere else. I didn’t really know of any other place to go.”

“No, no, that’s fine,” Steve said. “We’d need to go back there soon enough anyway. Tony must have found something by now. Unless…”

Steve’s eyes widened as the events that caused their departure from the cabin caught up to him.

“They were human,” Bucky said. “They weren’t after us.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Bucky said. “They were… they wanted Natasha. I don’t think they wanted us at all.”

“Oh,” Steve said quietly. He twisted in his seat to look back at Natasha and Clint. “Are they okay?”

“They should wake up soon,” Bucky replied. He was getting tired. He’d been driving for hours, and he’d been on guard for a lot longer than that. His body still wasn’t at full strength, and he could feel his energy ebbing away.

“Okay,” Steve said.

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Bucky knew that Steve desperately wanted to ask more questions, about the poison and how they’d made Bucky build up a tolerance to it. To Bucky’s relief, Steve didn’t ask any of those.

“Thanks for getting us all out of there,” Steve said quietly after a few minutes. “I awake for most of it, and I, uh, saw what you did.”

“You mean you saw me slaughter over two dozen people?” Bucky said, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.

“No!” Steve insisted. “Well, yes, but you were protecting us. They attacked us, you didn’t attack first.”

Steve kept talking when Bucky didn’t respond.

“You could have taken off by yourself, but you didn’t. You kept us safe, and you carried Clint and Natasha all the way to the car. I’m really grateful, Buck. Honestly.”

Bucky still didn’t say anything. They sat in silence for a few more minutes.

“Are you upset about something?” Steve asked finally.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“All right,” Steve said doubtfully. Bucky knew Steve was watching him carefully.

Steve apparently couldn’t fucking let it go, because he brought it up again a few minutes later. Then again, that might have been because Bucky was clenching the steering wheel so tightly that flashes of pain were coming from the scar on his right arm, and his left hand was putting a dent in the steering wheel.

“You’re angry about something, Buck. Is it that we had to leave the cabin? I know you liked it there.”

“Drop it, Steve,” Bucky snapped. There was silence for a moment.

“Okay. I’m sorry,” Steve said. He had crossed his arms.

Bucky let the silence hang between them for a few minutes before he spoke again.

“It’s not… it’s not that,” he said finally. Steve didn’t reply, but Bucky knew he was listening.

“It’s… it’s that I didn’t feel anything,” Bucky said. His grip on the steering wheel tightened again.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked quietly.

“I didn’t…” Bucky started. “When I killed them. I didn’t feel anything.”

Steve was quiet for a moment.

“That’s okay, Buck,” he said finally.

The steering wheel cracked under Bucky’s hand.

“It’s not okay, Steve!” Bucky said, more angrily than he’d meant to. “I’m not an idiot. I know you’re supposed to feel guilt, or remorse, or something when you kill someone. Even if they were going to kill you. And I didn’t feel anything. I wasn’t happy about it, but I wasn’t sad, either. There was just… nothing.”

“It’s okay,” Steve said again, more firmly this time. “Bucky, they spent decades training you to be like that. That’s how they wanted you to feel. You would have been useless to them if you’d gotten upset over every person you killed.”

“It was like this before, though,” Bucky said, so quietly that he wasn’t sure if Steve had even heard.

“Before Hydra?” Steve asked. His voice was calm and level.

“Before all of it,” Bucky said. His throat felt tight. “I remember killing people in the war, with you. And I remember not caring. I would sit on a hill or in a tree or wherever you fucking told me to go, and I’d pick people off one by one. And I didn’t care, I didn’t fucking care about them. It didn’t matter to me.”

His chest felt tight, and his lungs felt like they weren’t getting enough air.

“Bucky,” Steve said. He might have said something else, but Bucky couldn’t hear him. His heartbeat was pounding too loudly in his ears.

“Bucky, pull over,” Steve said sharply. The authority in Steve’s voice broke through Bucky’s haze, and he obediently pulled the car onto the side of the road. Steve hit the button to roll down the windows in the car, and the fresh night air washed over Bucky’s face. He took a grateful gasp of the air.

“Bucky, look at me,” Steve instructed. Bucky reluctantly turned his head to look at him.

“You’re okay, Bucky, you’re safe.”

Bucky nodded slowly, trying to get his breathing under control. The pain surging through his right arm kept him focused, and so he squeezed his hand tighter on the steering wheel.

“Do you want me to drive?” Steve asked. Bucky nodded again, letting go of the steering wheel for a moment to turn the car off. He quickly threw the keys at Steve and got out of the car, desperately breathing in the cool air.

“We can stop here for a few minutes,” Steve said, coming around to Bucky’s side of the car. “Stretch our legs a little.”

“No,” Bucky said. “We need to keep going.”

Steve looked like he was going to protest, so Bucky walked around to the passenger’s side of the car and got in, slamming the door after him. He crossed his arms, staring determinedly out the window until Steve got in and started the car. They pulled back onto the road.

Bucky bit into his lip so hard that he tasted blood. His mind instantly focused in on the pain, and felt his breathing start to slow.

“Bucky?” Steve said finally, after they’d been driving for a few minutes. He kept talking anyway when Bucky didn’t reply.

“Bucky, what you felt during the war… that’s normal. You should talk to Sam about it, when we get back.”

Bucky didn’t believe him.

“I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true. Bucky, in something like that, something that horrible… you can’t care about everything. You can’t take the time to care about every person that you hurt, especially when they’d kill you if you let them. It would destroy you.”

Bucky closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat.

“We killed a lot of people in that war, didn’t we?” Bucky said finally.

“Yes,” Steve said quietly.

“And I’ve killed a lot of people since.”

“So have I.”

Bucky turned to look at him, opening his eyes again. “Not as many as me.”

“More, probably,” Steve said. His tone was almost flippant, but his face just looked tired. “SHIELD missions usually ended up being pretty brutal.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say to that. He closed his eyes again.

“You care about all of them,” Bucky said, a few minutes later.  

“I…” Steve said, his voice trailing off. “No.”

“Don’t lie to me, Steve,” Bucky said, closing his eyes again. “You’re bad at it.”

“I’m not trying to lie,” Steve said. “It’s just… I don’t care in the moment, you know? Like if someone was pointing a gun at you, I wouldn’t hesitate to kill them. But later, when it’s over, then I think about it, and sometimes I can’t stop thinking about it. I just… I think about whether or not they had a family, and if they wanted to be fighting me or if it was just their orders. And it’s been worse since – “

He stopped abruptly.

Bucky cracked an eye open again. “Since you found me?”

Steve was silent for a moment. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” Steve said hastily. “I don’t regret finding you, at all. Never think that. No, it’s just that… I would have killed you, Buck. I was trying to, before I saw it was you. All I knew was that you were attacking me, and hurting my friends, and I wanted to kill you. And that breaks my heart, because you were innocent and you didn’t want to hurt me, and I would have killed you.”

“I did want to hurt you, Steve!” Bucky said insistently. He sat up straight, staring at Steve. “I tried to kill you multiple times!”

“But you didn’t want to,” Steve snapped back. “I’m not being naïve by saying that. I know you had the intent to kill me. But that wasn’t your choice, and you know that. They put that in your head, they told you what to do, and you tried to do it to the best of your ability. That wasn’t your fault, and it wasn’t something you wanted.”

Bucky frowned. “You didn’t know that when you fought me, though.”

“Exactly!” Steve nearly shouted. “See? How many other people have I fought and killed? Innocent people who were just doing what they had to do to survive? How many people have I killed that didn’t want to be there? How many of them were terrified when they saw me point a gun at them? I’ve killed so many people, Bucky.”

“Steve,” Bucky said, alarmed. Steve shook his head rapidly, clenching his hands on the steering wheel.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make this about me. Anyway, I’ll get you to talk to Sam when we get back, okay? He can help, I promise.”

“Steve,” Bucky said again. He didn’t have time to finish his sentence, because Clint started waking up in the back seat.

“We’re not done talking about this,” Bucky said as Clint groaned and sat up.

Steve didn’t say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and messages!! I love them so much, my day gets 200% better every time I read one. I appreciate it so, so much. I love you all for still reading this far in, and leaving me such unbelievably kind messages. All of you are the best people.
> 
> Oh also, I wanted to mention that I'm not trying to advocate for Bucky's ways of dealing with his panic attacks. That is NOT a healthy coping mechanism, and I hope it comes across as that. Self-harm is not a good coping strategy for panic attacks, and I would never want to promote that. Bucky, at this point, doesn't know many good coping strategies, and he's doing the best he can to get by. This will get addressed soon, but I hope that you guys understand that what I'm trying to get across. 
> 
> cameronwolfe.tumblr.com


	26. I never knew daylight could be so violent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "No light, no light", by Florence + The Machine. I think I've used that song before, but it's the perfect Bucky song. 
> 
> Sorry I missed a day yesterday! I was travelling all day, and I didn't have any time to post anything. I WILL DO BETTER

“What the fuck,” Clint said.

“Good morning,” Bucky said. Clint scowled at him.

“What time is it?” Clint asked grumpily, stretching.

“It’s three,” Steve said. “AM, not PM.”

“Goddamn it,” Clint said. “Is Natasha okay?” He poked her arm experimentally.

“She’s fine,” Bucky said. “She would wake up soon, too.”

Clint noticed the bag of Mcdonalds on the seat beside him and grabbed it eagerly. “How’d we get out of there?” he asked as he unwrapped one of the hamburgers.

“Bucky got us out,” Steve said.

“Oh,” Clint said through a mouthful of hamburger. “Thanks.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He closed his eyes again, but every time he did so images started to flash against the back of his eyelids. Horrible ones. It always happened after he had to fight something. He forced his eyes open, staring blearily out the window.

“We’re going back to New York?” Clint asked.

“Yep,” Steve said. “We’re only a few hours away by now, I think.”

“All right,” Clint said easily. He finished his hamburger. “Do we know who those guys were?”

“No,” Steve said. “But, uh, Bucky said they weren’t after me or him. He said they wanted Natasha.”

Clint frowned at that, glancing at Natasha worriedly. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

There was silence for a few minutes. Bucky tried to keep himself awake, but his thoughts were scattering and his eyelids were growing heavy.

The comfort of the car faded away into darkness, the sound of Steve’s and Clint’s voices growing more faint. Bucky wasn’t there anymore. It was warmer now, too warm. Bucky was uncomfortable. Why was he so uncomfortable? Where was he? Somewhere tropical, probably. It was hot and humid, and his clothes were sticking to his body. Oh, that’s why he was so overheated. He was wearing his full combat gear, his weapons hanging heavy in their holsters.

He was walking through some kind of rainforest. He moved soundlessly, of course, but it didn’t matter. The forest was alive around him, between the noise of the bugs and the chatter of animals. He tilted his head back, watching the last rays of light filter through the leaves above him. The forest was shrouded in shadow now. Good.

It was only a few more minutes of walking before the mud turned to sand beneath his feet. He could hear the sound of the ocean brushing gently against the shore.

The sound of children’s laughter startled him, and he dropped to a crouch in the shadow of the trees. Two children, a boy and a girl, ran past him on the sand. They were laughing, the boy chasing the girl with his hand stretched out.

“Dinner!” a woman’s voice called out. Bucky leaned around the tree, examining the house that stood on stilts on the beach. It was large, with a porch wrapped around the entirety of the house. The woman stood on that porch, waving to the children. They ran inside the house after her, arguing with each other about who had won the game.

Bucky waited until the darkness completely blanketed the house. He knew the floor plan of the house, of course, and so he climbed silently up onto the porch. He slit the throats of the two security guards standing on the porch before they knew he was there. He covered their mouths with his hands as they fell to the ground, so the noises wouldn’t reach the family inside. He left them lying on the porch and slid the child’s bedroom door open. It wasn’t locked. The family’s security was poor. Not that it would have mattered, but still.

Bucky stepped over the toys littering the ground, pausing in the shadow of the door to listen. The only noises in the house came from the dining room.

Bucky moved out into the hall, his heavy boots silent on the wood floor. He stopped in the shadows again at the edge of the dining room, doing a quick head count.

The father sat at the head of the table, smiling indulgently at the boy. The wife was correcting the girl’s table manners.

All were accounted for.

The children were sitting with their backs to Bucky. Good. He didn’t want to scare them. There was no need for them to suffer. Those weren’t his instructions.

He didn’t bother using a silencer on his gun. There was no one around to hear. The wife screamed in shock as her children slumped onto the table on front of her, but she only had to suffer for a few seconds. The husband jumped to his feet, shouting. He tried to shelter his wife with his own body, but it was already too late. He died in his wife’s arms at least, falling over her body.

Bucky waited until he was sure that they were dead before he left. When he was completely sure, he walked back out the door he’d come in, sliding it shut behind him. He walked back down the beach, his mask too warm on his face. He disappeared back into the jungle again, the air thick around him. The leaves crunched under his feet as he –

“Bucky!” a voice shouted. Someone had their hands on his shoulders. He kicked as hard as he could, scrambling backward.

“Bucky, it’s me,” Steve’s voice said urgently. Bucky blinked rapidly, his back pressed against the cool side of the car.

“Steve?” he asked, struggling to breathe through a chest that felt like it was being crushed by bricks.

“Yeah, yeah it’s me,” Steve said frantically. He was kneeling in front of Bucky, one hand pressed to his ribs where Bucky had kicked him. Bucky was vaguely aware of Natasha and Clint standing behind him. They were pulled over on the side of the road. When had they gotten out of the car?

Bucky surprised himself and probably Steve, too, by reaching out and grabbing Steve’s arm with his right hand. Steve didn’t move, even though Bucky was probably squeezing his arm painfully.

“It’s all right, Buck,” Steve said, more quietly. “You’re safe here.”

Bucky didn’t care if he was safe, but the tone of Steve’s voice calmed him nonetheless. He could feel Steve’s heartbeat under his hand, beating rhythmically. It was comforting, and Bucky matched his breathing to that rhythm. He automatically bit down on his lip to try and pull back him back to the present.

“Hey,” Clint said from behind Steve. “Come on, man, let’s not do that. Here, okay, drink this.”

Clint was holding a plastic water bottle out to him, the cap already off. Bucky didn’t let go of Steve’s arm, but he took the bottle with his left.

“Just sip it,” Clint said. “Slowly.”

Bucky did as instructed, drinking it slowly. The water mixed with the blood in his mouth, but sipping at the water forced him to control his breathing more. His heart rate started to slow.

It took another ten minutes before they could get back in the car. Bucky didn’t even notice the broken window until he was back in his seat.

Steve noticed Bucky staring at the space where the window had been.

“You, uh, kind of kicked the window out,” Steve said by way of explanation.

“Oh,” Bucky said dully. He was tired.

Natasha and Clint were talking quietly in the back seat. Bucky realized he hadn’t seen Natasha wake up, which must mean that he’d been asleep for longer than he’d thought.

Natasha and Clint were speaking to each other in a foreign language, probably because they didn’t want Steve and Bucky to know what they were saying. Bucky did actually speak and understand that language, but he couldn’t be bothered to listen in on their conversation. He stared out the window, watching as the scenery flashed by. He actually enjoyed the feeling of the cool air rushing past his face through the broken window.

Sure enough, they reached New York two hours later.

“We can’t go back to the tower until Tony says it’s safe,” Clint said from the backseat, switching to English.

“We aren’t going to the tower,” Steve replied. Sure enough, they pulled up in front of a smaller apartment building half an hour later. Clint, Natasha, and Bucky got out, and Steve drove the car a few streets away and left it there. He jogged back to join them.

Bucky lagged behind the others as they walked up the stairs in the building. Since they left the cabin, he’d only eaten the few fries Steve had given him, and the water bottle from Clint. He was hungry and tired, and his slow stair-climbing pace was annoying even to him. Steve patiently waited for him at every landing, though.

They finally reached the floor that Steve wanted. Clint and Natasha were already standing by the door when Steve and Bucky walked up, Bucky trudging sullenly behind. Natasha knocked on the door.

Sam opened it a few minutes later, raising his eyebrows as he took in their disheveled state.

“Hi,” Natasha said, smiling winningly at him.

“Again? Really?” Sam said, shaking his head. “All right, all right. Come in.” He stepped back and held the door open for them as they all filed in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was a little slow and boring. There wasn't a whole lot of plot or anything, I'm sorry! The part about one of Bucky's missions was only supposed to be a little paragraph, but I got carried away. Also, I'm sorry again for missing yesterday! 
> 
> I'm also working on a Steve/Bucky au at the same time, so hopefully I'll be able to post that soon as well!
> 
> As always, thank you guys so much for the lovely comments, you are all the greatest people.


	27. I will be there too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Silhouettes", by Of Monsters and Men.

STEVE

 

Sam’s apartment wasn’t huge, but it was clean and comfortable. Clint, Bucky, and Steve all took turns showering, while Natasha disappeared back out onto the street to do some quick shopping. By the time Steve had finished his shower, there was a neat pile of folded clothes waiting for him on Sam’s bed. He changed into the new clothes and went out into the kitchen. Bucky had showered before him, and now was sitting on the couch wearing the new clothes that Natasha had bought him. Natasha and Clint were sitting at the counter, and Sam was pulling ingredients out of the fridge.

“Let me help,” Steve said insistently, grabbing a few of the ingredients out of Sam’s hands.

“You’re the guest,” Sam protested. “I don’t mind cooking.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “We barged into your house because we have nowhere else to go. I don’t think normal houseguest rules really apply here.”

“Well, if you want to,” Sam said, letting Steve take over the cooking. It was around breakfast time, and so the two of them made omelets.

“Do you want some, Bucky?” Steve asked. Bucky was still sitting on the couch and staring blankly at the wall. He looked tired.

“Okay,” he said slowly. He got up and went to sit next to Clint at the counter.

“If you want more, just ask,” Sam told him as he set a plate in front of Bucky. Steve saw Sam pause and his eyes widen slightly as Bucky reached out to pull the plate closer to him. Bucky was only wearing a t-shirt, leaving both of his arms exposed. Sam was staring at the jagged scar tissue that covered the entire length of Bucky’s right arm. Bucky didn’t seem to notice that he’d caught Sam’s attention. Or, if he did, he didn’t care enough to say anything about it.

Sam, to his credit, just set a glass of water in front of Bucky and went back to helping Steve wash the dishes. He raised his eyebrows at Steve and nodded with his head at Bucky.

“Later,” Steve said quietly. Sam nodded.

After eating, Bucky fell asleep on the couch in the living room. Steve had asked him if he wanted to try and sleep in Sam’s room, but Bucky had ignored him and pressed himself further into the couch cushions.

“What happened, man?” Sam asked Steve quietly as they finished cleaning up the kitchen. “You just took off, and I get one quick phone call asking if I’m all right. And then weeks go by, and nothing.”

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Steve said guiltily. “We had to move quickly, and we had to get rid of our phones. We only just got back into the city today.”

Sam was looking at him doubtfully. “And Bucky? How’s he doing?”

“He’s doing better,” Steve said.

 Sam raised his eyebrow. “Yeah? What happened to his arm?”

Steve winced. He didn’t want to think about that again. “That was… that was a low point. But he’s been doing better since then. Really,” he insisted.

Sam shrugged. “If you say so.”

“I was wondering…” Steve tried. “I was wondering if, if after all of this calms down, if you could help me get him some more help? Someone professional, I mean. Somebody who knows more than me.”

“Of course,” Sam said easily. “I can start looking into that now, if you want. Just let me know when.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Steve said. “I really appreciate it.”

At that moment, Sam’s cell phone rang.

“I know, Steve,” Sam said. “Give me a second?”

Steve nodded, and turned his attention back to cleaning the counter.

“Steve?” Sam said again a moment later.

“Yeah?”

“It’s for you,” Sam said, holding the phone out to Steve. He was frowning at it.

“Uh, okay,” Steve said. He took the phone from Sam.

“Steve!” Tony’s voice said excitedly over the phone.

“How did you get Sam’s number?” Steve asked. “How did you even know we were here?”

“Lucky guess,” Tony replied. He didn’t answer the question about Sam’s phone. “Anyway, good news. We found out where those gross slime creature things were coming from.”

“Still no good name for them, huh.”

“Nope. Anyway, we tracked them back to a warehouse outside of the city. I’ll text you the address, but it’ll take Bruce and I about two days to get there and get ready. We can meet you there.”

“Two days?” Steve asked incredulously. “Where are you?”

“We may or may not be in Australia,” Tony said quickly. “Long story. Also, the tower needs major repairs now, so I wouldn’t advise going back there for the time being. Don’t do anything until we get there, though.”

“Of course,” Steve said. “Call when you get back to New York, all right?”

“Will do, Cap. Gotta go.”

Steve hung up Sam’s phone. A text message appeared immediately, containing only the warehouse address. Steve memorized it, and then deleted it. He handed the phone back to Sam. “Thanks.”

“Uh, you’re welcome?” Sam said as he took his phone back. “What’s up?”

“Long story,” Steve said absent-mindedly.

“Anything you need help with?”

Steve shook his head. Sam had already done too much for him. He didn’t need to endanger his life again to help Steve with this. “No, but thank you.”

“Steve?” Natasha’s voice called from down the hallway. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Steve went into Sam’s bedroom. Clint was sitting on the bed, and Natasha stood leaning against the dresser.

“Is everything okay?” Steve asked. Both Clint and Natasha looked stressed.

“Well, yes and no,” Natasha said. “I know you were waiting for Tony to find whoever sent those creatures for you. Clint and I want to help you with that, of course. But I also have people after me right now, as you know.”

“Okay,” Steve said slowly. He had an idea of where this was leading.

“Well, we need to go and take care of that,” Natasha continued. “We won’t be gone long.”

“Okay,” Steve said again. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No,” Natasha said. “But thank you.”

Steve noticed that there were two duffel bags on the bed. “You’re leaving now?”

“Yes,” Natasha replied. “But don’t do anything until we get back, okay? We want to help.”

“Of course,” Steve said. “Just call me if you need anything, okay? Or call Sam, I guess.”

Natasha smiled at him. “Okay, Steve.”

They left three minutes later, after thanking Sam. Bucky didn’t even wake up as they left, his face still buried in the couch cushions.

“If you two are gonna stay here for a while, we’re going to need more food,” Sam said after Clint and Natasha left, staring into his fridge. “I do not have the supplies to feed two super soldiers. Will you guys be all right if I run to the store?”

“Do you want me to go?” Steve asked.

“Nah, you’re the guest. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be back in an hour,” Sam said as he put his shoes on. Steve locked the apartment door after him.

He stood in the quiet apartment, watching Bucky sleep. He was glad that Bucky was getting some actual rest, and he didn’t seem to be having nightmares at the moment. He really did seem to sleep better during the day.

Steve quietly slipped his shoes back on and picked up his shield. He’d probably get noticed walking around with it in the middle of the day, but if he could find a good car quickly enough, he could just throw it in the back seat. He wouldn’t take the one with the broken window. It wasn’t practical until they could get it fixed. He felt horrible about having to steal another, but he would track down the car’s owner after he was done with it and try and pay them back for it. Or something.

He grabbed the spare set of keys that Sam had given him and opened the apartment door. He glanced at Bucky again, who was still deeply asleep. Sam would be back before Bucky would wake up. Bucky liked Sam, and Sam would be good for him. It would be good for Bucky to stay here for a while. He’d be safe.

No one else needed to be in danger because of Steve.

He slipped out the door, closing it softly behind him and locking it. He walked quietly back down the stairs and out onto the street, blinking in the bright sunlight.

It only took him a few minutes to find a car, break into it, and hot-wire it. It shouldn’t even have taken that long, but he’d had to find one on an empty street. He didn’t think it would be good for the Avengers’ image if someone took a picture of Captain America stealing a car.

He tossed his shield into the backseat once he got the car started, and got into the driver’s seat.

In his peripheral vision, he caught sight of someone sitting in the passenger’s seat. Steve immediately spun around, reaching for his shield before he realized it was Bucky.

“What the hell are you doing?” Steve shouted. He leaned back against the seat, running his hands through his hair. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry,” Bucky said calmly from his seat. He didn’t seem to care much about Steve’s panic. He was just sitting casually and examining the damage to his left hand. “Where are we going?”

“We,” Steve said sharply. “Aren’t going anywhere. How did you get in here, anyway? I thought you were asleep!”

Bucky smirked a little and leaned back in his seat. “You should probably start driving, if we’re going to stay in this car. It’s not a great strategy to steal a car and then just sit in it.”

Steve sighed deeply. “Bucky, I need you to go back up to Sam’s apartment, okay? I just need to go take care of something. I’ll be back soon.”

“No,” Bucky said calmly. “I’m going with you.”

“You’re not coming with me.”

“Yes, I am.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Okay.”

Steve threw his hands up in the air. “I’m trying to keep you safe, Bucky!”

Bucky scowled at him. “And I’m trying to keep _you_ safe, Steve!”

Steve stared at him for a long moment. “You aren’t getting out of the car, are you.”

“Nope.”

Steve rolled his eyes and pulled the car away from the curb. As angry as he was, though, he couldn’t help but smile slightly. He hadn’t really wanted to do this alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for the comments everyone! I love you!


	28. And if I seem dangerous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Monster", by Imagine Dragons.

The address that Tony had given Steve lead them out of the city and into a small town a few hours away. The town was creepy, to put it nicely. Even Bucky looked uneasy as they drove down the main street.

It was a pleasant day, with the sun shining down and not a cloud in the sky. The town somehow still looked dark. It was, as far as Steve could see, completely deserted. The store windows were boarded up, and every restaurant or café had a “Closed” sign hanging in front of it.

There were no people anywhere. No animals roamed the streets. The only sound that Steve could hear was the rumble of the car’s engine.

“Well,” Steve said as they drove slowly down the main street. “It’s, uh…”

“It’s creepy as fuck,” Bucky said bluntly.

“No one’s attacked us yet,” Steve said.

“Yet,” Bucky said darkly. “We should have brought more weapons.”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on having you along,” Steve said as he scanned the street.

“You weren’t planning at all,” Bucky muttered. Steve rolled his eyes.

There wasn’t much of the town past the main street. Steve could see a few streets of houses off to the side, but other than that, this was the entirety of the town. The warehouse that Tony had given him the address to was set only a mile from town, surrounded by barren fields.

“Either their security is terrible, or they’re waiting for us,” Bucky said, staring out the window.

“This was a bad idea,” Steve said as he stopped the car a little way from the warehouse.

“You think?” Bucky said. Steve made a face at him.

“Now what?” Steve said. “We just walk up to the door and knock?”

“Or we walk up and kick the door in,” Bucky suggested.

Steve shrugged. “All right.”

Bucky definitely smiled as they got out of the car.

They walked all the way up to the small door on the side of the warehouse with no problems. Bucky was still looking around warily.

“This is weird,” Steve said as they stood outside the plain wood door. He shifted his shield on his arm.

Bucky shrugged and kicked at the door. It shook, but didn’t break.

“Okay, same time,” Steve said. “Ready?”

Bucky nodded.

Steve didn’t have to count down. They both did it in their heads automatically, and then kicked the door at the same time. It collapsed inward easily.

Both of them braced for an attack. Steve lifted his shield, and Bucky lifted the gun he was holding securely in his right hand. No attack came.

Bucky and Steve exchanged a quick glance, and then Bucky stepped into the dim warehouse first.

There were no lights on in the warehouse, but sunlight filtered in through dusty windows up near through the roof. The warehouse was quiet and still. It was just one large room, but there were aisles of machines humming quietly. There were no people, though, or movement of any kind.

“What the hell,” Steve murmured under his breath. Bucky was already walking towards one of the machines. To Steve’s surprise, Bucky had lowered his gun, his hand hanging limply at his side.

“Bucky?” Steve called cautiously. When Bucky didn’t reply, Steve jogged after him.

Bucky was standing in front of one of the machines. It was just a rectangular metal box that hummed quietly with electricity. Steve didn’t understand why –

“Fuck,” Steve said out loud. “Bucky, these aren’t…”

“Yeah,” Bucky said slowly. “They are.”

Bucky’s gun clattered to the floor, and Steve flinched at the noise. He glanced around, but there was no movement from anywhere in the warehouse. Bucky was frantically scrabbling at the latch on the cryofreeze container that they were standing in front of.

“Bucky, maybe we should check the rest of the place out first,” Steve said desperately. Bucky ignored him and smashed the latch with his fist. Bucky pulled at the handle desperately, and with a hiss, he pulled the door open.

Steve and Bucky stared at the inside of the container for a moment.

“What the hell,” Steve said.

“What the fuck,” Bucky said at the same time.

A man was suspended in the ice within the cryofreeze chamber, his eyes open and unseeing. There were tubes and wires threaded through the ice and into his skin. The strange part, though, was that the man was not entirely human. At least, he didn’t appear to be. Parts of his skin seemed to be made of metal instead of flesh. It seemed random, though. There was one patch of metal over his collarbone, and another stretching down his side over his hip.

“It’s vibranium,” Steve said. He ran his hand lightly over the surface of the ice, tracing one of the tubes that seemed to contain a silver substance. That tube went into the place where the vibranium was spreading over the man’s hip. “They’re turning him into vibranium.”

Bucky was still staring, wide-eyed.

“Bucky?” Steve said cautiously. Bucky was starting to shake.

At that moment, Steve heard the sound of cars pulling up outside.

“Bucky,” he said again, more urgently. Bucky didn’t seem to be registering Steve’s voice at all. He was still staring at the ice, his face blank.

Steve took a chance. Hoping desperately that Bucky wouldn’t break his arms, Steve grabbed his shoulders and spun him around. “Bucky, look at me.”

Bucky let Steve turned him away from the ice, but his eyes still focused on the trapped man. Steve grabbed the sides of Bucky’s head. “It’s me. It’s Steve. Bucky, I’m sorry, but you need to snap out of it, all right?”

Bucky’s eyes flicked back and forth between the ice and Steve. “I’m trying,” he said desperately.

Steve dragged him closer until their foreheads were touching. “Bucky, I’m sorry, but I think we’re going to have to fight our way out of here, okay? Can you do that?”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, dragging a slow breath of air in. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Good,” Steve said just as the door opened.

A group of people walked in, and stopped dead in their tracks upon seeing Steve and Bucky. To Steve’s surprise, they were not a heavily armed group of security guards. Instead, they looked like a bunch of average civilians.

That is, until Steve noticed that they weren’t staring at Steve. They were staring hungrily at his shield.

“Hello,” one of them said. She couldn’t have been older than 18, but she stood confidently at the front of the group.

Steve and Bucky glanced at each other quickly.

“Uh, hi?” Steve said slowly. The girl smiled more widely.

“We don’t care why you’re here,” she said kindly. “There’s only so much damage you could do here anyway. And you can go now, no questions asked. But… you need to give us those.”

She pointed at Steve’s shield with one hand, and Bucky’s arm with the other.

Steve glanced at Bucky, who looked at him and shook his head slightly. Steve turned back to look at the girl.

“I’ll give you my shield,” he said slowly. He really didn’t want to leave his shield, but they could come back later with Clint and Natasha. Or he could just wait for Tony and Bruce to get back, which is what he should have done in the first place, but it was a little late for that now. “And we’ll go.”

The girl shrugged. “Nope, sorry. Both.”

“Bucky?” Steve said under his breath.

“Can’t,” Bucky muttered back. “I’ll die.”

“What?” Steve said, a little louder than he’d intended.

“If they take this off, I’ll die,” Bucky said again.

“Oh. Well, that not going to happen,” he said, more loudly so that the group of people could hear them.

The girl shrugged again. “Well, okay then.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and typed something on it.

With a hiss, the doors on a row of cyrofreeze chambers opened. These were different than the one that Bucky had opened, because when the lids swung open, the creatures that had attacked Bucky and Steve back in their apartment began to crawl out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR THE COMMENTS OH MY GOD I'M CRYING THEY WERE SO LOVELY, YOU ARE ALL SO LOVELY 
> 
> cameronwolfe.tumblr.com if you want to come chat!!


	29. Breath I'll take and breath I'll give

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Lungs", by Townes Van Zandt.

“Alrighty,” the girl said, still chipper. “Now, you can drop that shield and let us take his arm off for him, or…”

She gestured to the creatures, which were now crawling towards Steve and Bucky.

“Or they can rip it off him! That’ll probably be messy, and I’d rather you didn’t pick that option. Anyway, we have work to do, so if you could make this quick I’d appreciate it.”

Steve started backing up as the creatures came closer.

“You know what? Neither of those options are really working for me,” Steve said. “Bucky? You got enough bullets for all of these?”

“Nope,” Bucky said. His eyes were fixed on the creatures. “Didn’t really have time to stock up on ammo.”

Behind the creatures, the girl and the rest of her people were spreading out throughout the warehouse, seemingly completely unconcerned with the horrific dark creatures crawling in their midst. They appeared to be going back to work, with some of them heading back to their desks and workstations.

Bucky experimentally shot the creatures closest to them. He shot them perfectly, of course, and seven of them collapsed without even getting close to Steve.

“That’s all I’ve got,” Bucky said, dropping his gun on the ground.

“This is the worst mission we’ve ever done,” Steve said. They’d backed up far enough that Steve’s back was pressed against the row of cryofreeze chambers.

“Nah,” Bucky said, pulling one of his knives out and throwing it straight through one of the creature’s eyes. “That one in Denmark was pretty bad. When you got stuck under that car.”

“You remember that?” Steve asked as he looked around for anything else he could potentially use as a weapon.

“Sort of,” Bucky said as he threw his last knife into a creature’s head. “I remember us having to pull you out from under the car, but I don’t remember how you got there.”

“Tell you later,” Steve said as he shifted his shield on his arm.

Bucky ripped the door off the cryofreeze chamber behind them. It gave way with a horrible screech, loud enough that one of the people working at a desk nearby looked up.

“Hey!” the man protested. “Don’t touch those, please!”

Steve and Bucky stared at him for a moment before looking at each other.

“This is so fucked up,” Bucky said as he used the edge of the door to crush the throat of the closest creature.

Steve felt a tug on his shield, and he looked down to see that a creature had crawled up beside him. It was pulling on Steve’s shield with its hand, its warped face smiling.

“What _are_ these?” Steve said with disgust as he wrenched his shield away from It and stamped on its head.

“I think they used to be human,” Bucky said as he used the door he was holding to crush the throat of another creature. He saw Steve’s look of horror.

“Look,” Bucky said, pointing at the eyes of one of the creatures. “Their eyes look human, and so do their arms and legs. Kind of.”

“That’s awful,” Steve said as he kicked one of them so hard that it flew backward into a nearby cryochamber and cracked its head open.

“Yeah, well, this whole thing is fucked up,” Bucky said as he killed the last of the creatures. “We need to –“

Steve didn’t hear the rest of Bucky’s sentence. Sharp pain ripped through his stomach and his throat, strong enough that his vision went dark instantly. The pain kept him from slipping completely into unconsciousness, and he managed to swing his shield around to hit whatever was hurting him. The pain and pressure lessened, and Steve was dragged down into darkness.

 

When Steve woke up again, the pressure was back on his throat and stomach. He tried to push away whatever it was that was doing it, but his arms were unusually weak and ineffective.

“Bucky?” he asked groggily as he struggled to open his eyes.

“Steve!” Bucky nearly shouted, his voice filled with relief. “Steve, you have to get up.”

Steve’s vision was blurry and dark at the edges, and his hands and feet felt numb. He pushed himself up into a sitting position anyway.

“What happened?” Steve asked, or at least tried to. His voice didn’t sound right, even to his muffled ears.

“It’s okay,” Bucky said. Bucky was kneeling nearly on top of him. His face and shirt were streaked with blood. “Everything’s fine, but you have to get up.”

Steve tried to brush some of the blood off of Bucky’s face, frowning. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Bucky said impatiently. “Come on, Steve, just stand up.”

Steve tried to stand up, he really did, but his legs buckled underneath him. Bucky held him upright, pushing him back against the cryofreeze chamber while Steve tried to stay standing.

“What happened?” Steve said again. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision enough to see around him.

“It’s fine, it’s over,” Bucky said, slinging one of Steve’s arms over his shoulder. “I took care of it. All you have to do is walk.”

“I can do that,” Steve muttered, even though he wasn’t one hundred percent sure about that. “Where’s my shield?”

“What?”

“My shield,” Steve said again. It occurred to him that Bucky might not be able to understand what he was saying either. Why couldn’t he talk properly?

“Oh. I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

“’Kay,” Steve said. He tripped on something on the floor and fell on his hands and knees. Bucky said words in a language that Steve didn’t understand. Bucky hauled him upright again, taking most of Steve’s weight on his shoulders.

“Where are we going?” Steve tried to say, his head slumping down towards his chest.

“Stop trying to talk,” Bucky said. “Just try and breathe.”

Steve could breathe just fine. He didn’t have asthma anymore. Well, actually, now that he thought about it, his neck was hurting a little. It wasn’t that bad. His stomach really hurt, though.

Steve tried to pull his shirt away from his stomach so he could see why it hurt so badly, but Bucky pushed his arm away.

“Don’t look at it,” Bucky said.

“’Kay,” Steve said again. He was cold. His foot slipped in something and he almost fell again, wincing. The air smelled like blood.

The ground changed beneath Steve’s feet, and he tried to open his eyes to see where they were. The air was fresher now, and he assumed they were outside.

“Bucky?”

“What?”

“Can we sit down for a minute?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No. You promised me you’d keep walking.”

Steve didn’t think he had promised that, but he couldn't be sure. He’d keep walking anyway, even though he couldn’t feel his legs and the pain from his stomach was starting to turn his already blurry vision grey. He had to consciously think about each step, willing his feet to move.

By the time they’d reached the car, Steve’s eyes were closed and Bucky was basically dragging him across the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how many of you are still reading this, but for those who are, I hope you're enjoying it! I can't believe there are actually people out there who want to read my writing, and I appreciate your comments and messages so much. It makes me cry, I love you all so much.


	30. Just promise me we'll be all right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Ghosts That We Knew" by Mumford and Sons. 
> 
> ALSO A BUNCH OF YOU COMMENTED ON THE LAST CHAPTER WITH "I'M WITH YOU TO THE END OF THE LINE" AND I HOPE YOU KNOW THAT I CRIED. I CRIED AT EVERY COMMENT. I LOVE YOU GUYS

“Steve, if I let you go, are you gonna stand up?”

“Yep,” Steve murmured. Bucky slipped out from under his arm, and Steve fell against the car.

“Okay, that’s fine, just lean like that,” he heard Bucky say. “Just don’t fall over, I don’t know if I can get you up again.”

“Got it,” Steve tried to say. He leaned against the car, pressing his face into the cool metal.

“Okay,” Bucky said, some time later. Steve wasn’t sure how much time had passed, because he’d started to drift off into unconsciousness again. “Steve? Steve, come on. You just need to get into the car, okay? I put the seat down so you can kind of lie flat.”

Steve pushed himself off the car and fell into the seat.

“All right, good enough,” he heard Bucky say. He felt Bucky move him into a more comfortable position and shut the door behind him. Steve drifted out of consciousness again, but a sharp pain in his neck dragged him back.

“Hey,” he said in protest, trying to push Bucky’s hands off.

“Steve, you need to hold this for me, okay?” Bucky said. Bucky moved Steve’s hands so Steve was pressing something against his neck and stomach.

“What happened?” Steve asked, trying to open his eyes. The clothes he was pressing against his stomach and neck felt damp with what was probably blood.

There was silence for a moment as Bucky started the car. “You got hurt, Steve. One of those things climbed over the top of the cryofreeze chambers and got you.”

“No, I don’t care about that,” Steve said impatiently. “What happened after?”

There was a longer silence this time.

“You don’t need to worry about that for now,” Bucky said finally. “You’re safe, I’m safe, its fine.”

Steve sighed. He still wanted to know more, but his stomach was hurting a lot and he didn’t want to talk. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep the pain out of his voice if he spoke, and so he let himself start to fall asleep.

“Steve?” Bucky said, alarmed. “Steve, wake up. You have to stay awake. Look, tell me that story about Denmark, okay? How did you get stuck under the car?”

“I tried to throw it,” Steve mumbled. “But I tripped and dropped it.”

Bucky actually laughed out loud.

“Hey,” Steve said, a smile breaking over his face even though he couldn’t open his eyes. “You laughed. I missed hearing your laugh.”

“Yeah, well, keep talking and you might get to hear it again,” Bucky said. “Tell me something else.”

“Like what?” Steve slurred.

“Something funny. I don’t remember many funny things.”

“Okay,” Steve mumbled. “Do you remember when you got so drunk that you passed out on the stairs and I couldn’t make you get up?”

There was a pause.

“No,” Bucky said. “But that probably has more to do with the alcohol.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “You said the stairs were comfy and that you wanted to sleep there, and I tried to make you get up but you wouldn’t. So I pretended to cough, so you would get up and help me, right?”

“And?”

“Well it was a bad idea, because then I started actually coughing, and then I had an asthma attack, and then you got up and then you had to carry me into the apartment.”

“Even though I’d just passed out on the stairs?”

“Yep. And then you stayed up until you were sure I was okay, and then you passed out face down on the floor.”

Bucky laughed again. “Did I drink a lot?”

“Nah,” Steve said, wincing as the car hit a pothole. “Just to blow off steam sometimes. You worked too much to be hungover all the time.”

“Did you?”

“Drink?”

“No, work.”

“When I could,” Steve said, his head spinning slightly. “Which wasn’t often. Was sick too much to hold down any kind of steady job.”

“Were you dying?”

Steve didn’t say anything. He didn’t really want to answer that, and his body felt cold. But that might just be the blood loss. Steve figured he was losing blood pretty rapidly, even if Bucky wouldn’t let him look at the wound.

“Sorry,” Bucky said. “That was probably… not a good question.”

“I was, I think,” Steve said finally. “I think you knew that more than I did.”

Bucky was quiet for a moment, and Steve felt his breathing start to deepen as he slipped away from consciousness.

“No, Steve, hey, don’t do that,” Bucky said hastily. “I’m sorry, that… I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m sorry. Tell me something else.”

“Sorry, Buck,” Steve mumbled. “I’m really tired.”

“Tell me about my mother,” Bucky said desperately. “Please, Steve, I don’t remember anything about her, I don’t remember my family at all.”

Steve sighed and forced himself to open his eyes. “She was kind.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Buck. She was lovely. Whenever she made dinner, she always made too much. And she’d send you over to my apartment with the leftovers, to give to me and my mother. Because she knew that sometimes we couldn’t afford enough food for both of us, and my mother would give her food to me so I wouldn’t be hungry. Even though your family wasn’t exactly rich.”

“Were we poor?”

“Yes,” Steve mumbled. Breathing was getting difficult. “But not like I was.” He coughed, trying to clear his throat, but he cried out as pain shot through his body.

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered. “Keep talking, Steve. Tell me something else.”

“One time,” Steve said through gritted teeth. “I got really sick. Sicker than normal, anyway. And my mother had been crying for hours, because she had to go to work. And she had to go, see, cause we needed the money for my medicine.” His mind started to drift.

“And?” Bucky prompted. “Come on, you can’t just leave it like that. That’s a terrible story.”

“No, it’s a good one,” Steve insisted. Or tried to. It was so tiring to speak. “She’d been crying for hours, and I was trying to get her to stop but every time I tried to talk, I started coughing again. And it’d been a few days since I’d been to school, and you hadn’t heard from me since then. So there we were, me lying in bed, and my mother’s curled up next to me crying because she thinks I’m going to die alone while she’s at work, right? And then we hear this banging on the door, and she thinks it’s the landlord so she ignores it, but then you start yelling through the door. So she gets up and lets you in, and you didn’t even freak out when you saw me. You just took over for her right away, and you convinced her to go to work, and you stayed there all night and then for the next three days. You didn’t sleep for all three days, I don’t think. Neither did I, really. You kept waking me up every time I fell asleep because you were afraid I’d died.”

“Kind of like right now, huh?” Bucky said.

“I guess,” Steve murmured. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to stop the pain in his side.

“Well, I’m not going to let you sleep now, either, so you better keep talking,” Bucky said. Steve felt like he was probably driving too quickly, but he couldn’t lift his head to look out the window.

“’Bout what?”

“Whatever you want.”

“But I know everything. You tell me what you want to know.”

“Okay,” Bucky said finally. “Tell me about me.”

“In general? Or something specific?”

“I dunno. Just something. I don’t remember much about myself. But don’t tell me the stuff that’s in the museums and everything. That shit doesn’t mean anything.”

“Okay,” Steve said. He was trying to think, but his thoughts felt slow and heavy. “You were kind, too.”

Bucky made a noise that sounded doubtful.

“No, really,” Steve protested. “You were nice to everyone, except the people who pissed you off. You always had girls falling all over you, but I never saw you be cruel to any of them. And you helped people when you could. You were nice to me, too. Not many people were nice to me.”

Bucky was quiet.

“You really liked movies. You’d probably like them now, too. We never really had that much money to go see them, but you loved it.

“What else?”

“You liked stupid jokes. You would laugh for hours at some silly thing I’d said or done. You laughed a lot. Never at people, though. Just with them.”

“Sounds nice,” Bucky said quietly.

“Yep,” Steve said, his eyes still closed. “This is nice too, though.”

“Steve, you’re literally bleeding to death all over the seats of a car that we stole.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, his voice quiet and muffled. “But I missed you. And you’re here now.”

Bucky was quiet. “Steve, I’m not…”

“You are,” Steve said as his consciousness drifted. “You’re here. You’re different, sure, but so am I. It’s okay. I missed you so much, Buck.”

Steve slid down into the darkness, but he thought he heard Bucky speak.

“I think I missed you too, Steve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry today's chapter was a little late. Also, I think this story is going to be wrapping up fairly soon , just to give you a heads up. It's pretty ridiculously long already, and I don't want to drag it out even more than it already has been!
> 
> As always, thank you so much for the comments and messages, you beautiful lovely people. Everyone always complains about how much hate there is on the internet and in the comments and stuff, but every single comment that I've gotten on here has been insanely kind, and I am so so thankful for it. Thank you all so much.


	31. Two hands longing for each other's warmth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Still," by Daughter.

When Steve woke up for the first time, Sam and Bucky were arguing loudly.

“Stop,” Steve mumbled. Both of them stopped talking, and Steve fell asleep again.

 

The next time he woke up, it was because someone was moving him and it really hurt.

“Stop,” Steve said again, groggily pushing them away.

“Ow,” someone said.

“Steve, its okay,” Bucky’s voice said. Steve relaxed. Bucky was there. It would be okay.

When they tried to move him again, the pain was strong enough that it knocked Steve out again. Steve let himself pass out again gratefully.

 

When he woke up again, the first thing he heard was the familiar beeping of a heart monitor. Between that and the sickly antiseptic smell that Steve was all too familiar with, he knew he was in a hospital. He forced his eyes open.

The first thing he saw was Sam, sitting in the chair next to him.

“Hey,” Steve mumbled. Sam looked up and smiled.

“Hey,” Sam said. “How’re you feeling?”

“Great,” Steve muttered, trying to sit up.

“Woah, no,” Sam said as he pushed Steve back down. “I will be so pissed if you rip your stitches open again.”

Steve settled back on his pillows. He blinked groggily, looking around the room.

“Bucky!” Steve exclaimed happily when he saw Bucky sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. The chair was pressed up against the wall, and Bucky was sitting curled in the chair scowling. He was clenching a knife in his hand.

“Hi,” Bucky said shortly.

“You’re here,” Steve said happily. Bucky scowled.

“He’s not loving the whole hospital thing,” Sam said. “We had a little disagreement when I wanted to bring you here.”

“Eh,” Steve said, shifting uncomfortably. The pain in his stomach and neck was already less than it had been before, though. “I don’t like them all that much either.”

“You’ll be out of here soon,” Sam said confidently. “The doctors just wanted to make sure your stitches are healing properly. Also, now that you’re awake, you can start fielding all these phone calls from your friends.”

Steve looked at him quizzically.

“As much as I love having the entire Avengers team yell at me for letting you go on this stupid mission, I’d rather have you deal with them,” Sam said. “Although it was kind of surreal having Tony Stark change from yelling at me to telling me how he could improve my wings.”

Steve sighed. “Sorry about that.”

Sam shrugged. “You’re gonna be in so much trouble with Natasha gets back.”

“I’m used to it,” Steve said. He tried to sit up again. “Wait, what happened with the vibranium thing?”

Sam looked over at Bucky, who looked coldly back and said nothing.

“It’s, ah, taken care of,” Sam said hastily. “You don’t really need to worry about that anymore.”

“Why not?” Steve asked, frowning.

Sam hesitated, looking over at Bucky.

“They’re dead,” Bucky said, his voice tense.

“Oh,” Steve said slowly.

“Well, the ones that were in that warehouse are,” Bucky said. “I don’t know if there are any more.”

“Your friend Tony said that they would take care of the rest,” Sam said. “I’m supposed to tell you not to do anything else, and that all you should do is wait for them to come and yell at you.”

Steve smiled sleepily. “Okay.”

“And I have some choice words for you, too,” Sam told him pointedly. “But I’m gonna wait until you look a little better. You’re still too pale for me to yell at you.”

“Okay. Thanks, Sam.”

Sam shook his head, but he was smiling a little. “I’ll go get you some food and water or something. Don’t do anything stupid in the time it takes me to get to the cafeteria and back.”

Steve nodded, and then winced at the fading pain in his neck. Sam left, leaving Steve and Bucky alone in the room.

Bucky was still huddled in the corner, frowning.

“How’re you doing?” Steve asked him.

“Fine,” Bucky said sharply. “I just want to get out of here.”

Steve looked at him worriedly. “You can go, don’t worry about me. I’m sure Sam’ll let you go home with him until I get out of here, if you want.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Don’t be an idiot, Steve. I’m not going anywhere. I just don’t like it here.”

“Me neither,” Steve said, trying to keep his eyes open.

“Go back to sleep. The sooner you heal, the sooner we can get out of here.”

“Okay,” Steve murmured. “Bucky?”

“Yeah, Steve?”

“Thank you.”

He heard Bucky sigh. “Stop thanking me, Steve.”

“Why?”

“It’s not…” Bucky said, sounding exasperated. “You don’t need to thank me for things like this.”

Steve frowned. “Why not? Why wouldn’t I thank you for saving my life?”

“Because it’s… look, Steve, you’ve done so much for me. You know that. And I can never even begin to repay you for that, just like I’ll never be able to make up for all the awful things I’ve done. So just… don’t thank me for things like this.”

There was venom in Bucky’s voice, but his posture wasn’t threatening. He was still curled on his chair in the corner, clutching his knife desperately. He just looked tired.

“Bucky, no,” Steve said, trying to sit up. “It’s not like that. I don’t want you trying to pay me back for anything. I helped you because you’re my friend and I wanted to help. That’s it.”

“But…” Bucky trailed off.

“Okay, look,” Steve tried again. “I know that it’s hard for you to blame Hydra for what they did to you, and you blame yourself instead. I get that. I know that you still feel guilty about it. And I’ll get you help for that, I promise. But in the meantime… I just… can you try and consider my side of it? Can you see where I’m coming from when I tell you that you aren’t to blame for any of this?”

Bucky thought about this for a moment. “I guess,” he said sullenly.

Steve leaned back against his pillows. “Thank you.”

“But only if you stop with that shit about how it was your fault that I fell off that fucking train.”

Steve sat bolt upright again. “That’s different! I planned that mission, I dragged you along. It was reckless and stupid and – “

“No, see, you’re always going on and on about how it wasn’t my choice to assassinate people. About how it wasn’t my choice to try and kill you. Yeah, okay, so let’s say that’s true.” Bucky leaned forward. “But it was my choice to join your team. It was my choice to go on that mission. I knew what I was doing. I wanted to be there. So stop trying to take that away from me.”

Steve blinked at him. “Oh.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair again, crossing his arms.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. “I didn’t mean…”

He laid back against his pillows, closing his eyes. Guilt washed over him again.

There was silence for a moment, and then he heard the scrape of Bucky’s chair as he pushed it across the floor.

“No, Steve, come on,” Bucky said hesitantly. Steve didn’t reply. A moment later, he felt Bucky’s right hand close softly around his own.

“Sorry,” Bucky said quietly. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“No, it’s okay,” Steve said tiredly. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, and Steve felt himself falling back asleep. Bucky’s hand was warm around his. Familiar.

He let himself slide back into sleep, listening to the sound of Bucky’s quiet breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so we're coming to the end. I think. I'm thinking there's just going to be one more chapter. Maybe. Probably. I'm really indecisive about this. But I think this particularly story is reaching it's natural end, and it's probably time to stop. My classes are going to be starting up soon as well, and I won't have nearly as much time to write and update. So it's probably for the best. I'm not going anywhere though, don't worry. If you were worried. Which you probably weren't. But yeah, I'll still be here! I have two other things that I'm working on right now. Both of them are steve/bucky. One of them is an au, and the other will be related to this story. I haven't decided if I should make this a series or not?? We'll see. 
> 
> But anyway, thank you guys so much for the comments. I love you all and you brighten my day so much. You are all amazing and wonderful people.


	32. I just want to be by your side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Wings", by Birdy.

Sure enough, Steve got to leave the hospital the next morning. The doctors wanted to keep him a little longer, but Bucky had started twitching at every sound and glaring at anyone who walked into the room. Steve had made the executive decision to leave early.

They made it back to Steve’s apartment with no problems, other than that it took Steve a little bit longer than usual to walk up the stairs.

Steve couldn’t deny that he immediately felt better when he walked in. He loved his apartment. To his surprise, someone had cleaned up the mess from where the creatures had attacked. Steve suspected that Sam was probably behind it.

“Sit down,” Bucky ordered. Steve rolled his eyes.

“I’m fine, Bucky,” Steve replied, but he sat down on the couch anyway. Bucky was looking through the cupboards.

“We need more food,” Bucky muttered.

“We can get some later,” Steve said. “Come sit for a minute.”

Bucky looked at him warily, but he left the kitchen and came to sit in the living room. He sat in his favourite chair by the window, watching Steve with narrowed eyes. Steve rolled his eyes again.

“Calm down, it’s nothing bad.”

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky muttered, but he looked a little less suspicious.

“Okay, so I was talking to Sam,” Steve started. “He’s going to get me a list of the best trauma counselors that he knows, but I wanted to check with you first. Would that be something that you’d be interested in?”

Bucky leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Like therapy or some shit?”

“Yes,” Steve said, refusing to match Bucky’s tone. “I think it would help. Sam and I could help you pick one of them that you were the most comfortable with, and we’d make sure that they understand the situation.

Bucky scoffed.

“Well, understand as best they can,” Steve amended. “But again, we’ll only do this if you want to. If you’re not comfortable with it, or if you’re not ready yet, then you don’t have to. But I think… I think it’ll help you to come to terms with some things.”

Bucky was frowning, but he was chewing on his lip, which meant that he was thinking hard about it.

“Okay,” Bucky said finally, and then frowned when Steve’s face lit up. “But only if you get one for yourself too.”

Steve stared at him. “You mean… get myself a therapist?”

“Yes,” Bucky said smugly. “That’s the deal. We both get therapists, or nothing.”

“No, I don’t need that,” Steve said, alarmed. Bucky gave him a look.

“That bullshit doesn’t work on me, Steve,” Bucky said. “You heard me. Both or nothing.”

Steve ground his teeth as he stared at Bucky for a few moments. “Okay. Fine. I’ll call Sam this afternoon and let him know.”

Bucky smirked. He looked triumphant. “Good.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Bucky stared out the window again.

“Where do you want to go from here?” Steve asked.

Bucky turned to look at him again. “What do you mean?”

Steve shrugged. “Just… I dunno. Do you want to stay here with me? Or… I mean, you can do something else if you want. I don’t want you to feel trapped here, or like you owe me or something.”

Bucky looked alarmed. “No, I want to stay. If… if that’s okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve said hurriedly. “Just wanted to make sure.”

Bucky smiled slightly and turned to look out the window again. Steve’s phone buzzed, and he opened a text message from Sam.

“Apparently Sam, Natasha and Clint are coming over for dinner,” Steve said. Bucky frowned.

“Are you okay with that?” Steve asked.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “But we don’t have any food.”

“They’re bringing pizza,” Steve said. “And apparently they’re going to yell at me while we eat it.”

Bucky smirked again. “Good. You deserve it.”

“I do not,” Steve muttered under his breath, but he was smiling. He leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes. In a weird way, he was looking forward to the lectures he was about to get. Sam would probably yell, and Natasha would probably glare. Bucky would probably grin behind their backs. Clint would just eat the pizza.

Steve didn't mind. People only lecture you when they care about you. He'd missed the feeling of having people care about him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT'S IT GUYS. THE LAST CHAPTER. I THINK. FOR NOW. I know this is a short chapter, and I'm sorry! I was afraid if I made it longer, I'd end up introducing some new problem and then I'd end up with 30 000 more words or something ridiculous like that. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this far! And I can never even begin to thank each of you enough for all the beautiful comments and messages you gave me. I can't describe how much it means to me, but you all are amazing and I love each and every one of you. I hope you all enjoyed reading this!
> 
> I know a lot of you were hoping for this to end with graphic sex or at least some sexual content, and I'm sorry! I just didn't feel comfortable including that where I ended this story. Steve and Bucky are just started to rebuild the trust between them, and I think they're still far from being able to have that kind of sexual relationship. I wouldn't feel comfortable doing that, and I hope you all understand. When I write more for this in the future, I can definitely make that happen for those of you who wanted that.
> 
> On that note, I'm also going to be writing more things! I'm not going anywhere! I love all of you, I love talking to you guys, and I love writing these characters! I'll probably even be posting something new tomorrow or the next day. I haven't decided yet if I should make this a series or not, but we'll see. 
> 
> Again, I love you guys so so much. Please let me know what you thought! 
> 
> As always, you can find me at cameronwolfe.tumblr.com.


End file.
